


Checkmate

by Okoru



Series: Satan's incredibly daring and foolish plan [1]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: A burn so slow we are throwing this fic in a crockpot and calling it a day, AU where MC doesn't exist and instead its just Solomon, Diavolo preforming every single romantic cliche you can imagine, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No beta we die like lilith, Pining, Satan struggling with his own identity (among other things), Secret Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, all of the tropes are there you can't stop me, body swap (with Satan and Lucifer)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 59,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okoru/pseuds/Okoru
Summary: Once Lucifer and Satan switch bodies, Satan becomes determined to make Lucifer’s life a living hell. And the perfect opportunity presents itself when Diavolo walks by.Or: Satan flirts with Diavolo while he’s still in Lucifer’s body, and instead of calling him out on it, Diavolo decides to play along.
Relationships: Diavolo/Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me)
Series: Satan's incredibly daring and foolish plan [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967353
Comments: 86
Kudos: 271





	1. Chapter 1

“Get out of this house Satan. Now.”  
Lucifer’s words ring in his head.  
_Get out_. He had the audacity to tell him to leave. To tell him that he was unwanted, _ungrateful._

As if he ever owed Lucifer anything. He has given him nothing but this anger, this wrath that is constantly bubbling through his veins. And Lucifer won’t even acknowledge it; acknowledge him.  
_Bastard._

The book Satan is currently holding crumbles in his hands, turning into nothing but ash.  
_Damn. That was one of my favorites._

He takes a deep breath to try and calm himself, but it’s hard. How can he not be angry when he has just been kicked out? When Lucifer continues to ignore him and treats him like one of his _brothers?_

The need for revenge rises within him, and Satan has the perfect idea on how to get it.  
It’s so simple, and so incredibly perfect.  
And all it takes is sending a single text to Solomon.

~+~+~

Five minutes after sending the text, Satan hears a knock on his door.  
He sets down the book he’s currently holding and grins.  
“Come in.”

Solomon enters the room, a curious expression painted on his face.  
“Hello Satan. You said you had something you wanted to discuss with me?”

“Yes. But first let me sort through some things real quick.”  
Satan continues sorting through his books and setting them into separate piles. There are thousands of them, and he’s stuck having to choose what he can keep.  
(Because of him, he seethes. It’s because of that asshole that he’s forced to get rid of some of the things that he loves; the things that make him happy).

He can feel Solomon’s eyes on him.  
“So,” Solomon questions, “what are you doing then?”

 _Isn’t it obvious?_  
“I'm trying to decide which one of my books I want to take with me, since I couldn’t possibly take them all.”  
And strangely enough Solomon doesn’t question him further. He merely hums in response.

Satan continues rummaging through his books, but watches Solomon from the corner of his eye. He’s looking around Satan’s room, analyzing every nook and cranny.  
His gaze lands on a tome on Satan’s desk.  
And Solomon must have been interested in it, because he questions Satan right away.  
“Is that the _Forbidden Tome of Dum As Airy?_ ”

“Yes. You’re into books as well?”

Solomon nods. “I’m into a lot of things, not just limited to magic.”

Something in his tone changes then. It turns warm, and every single word seems to be dripping with honey. It’s almost like Solomon is trying to charm him.  
He continues his line of questioning,  
“If I remember correctly, then this has a curse on it, where if two or more people touch it they switch bodies. But I can’t help but wonder, why would you have a book like this?”

Satan shrugs.  
“Books are knowledge, and knowledge is power. People respect someone who’s well informed, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmmm. I’m not quite so sure about that.”

 _What?_  
“Why not? No matter who you are, no matter the circumstances of your birth, if you are smart enough then people can’t dismiss you”.

Solomon grins, as if he’s found the answer to his question.  
“Ah, so that’s what this is about. You got into a fight with Lucifer.”

Satan feels himself grow angrier at the mere mention of his name.  
“I,” Satan snaps, “didn’t get into a fight with him at all. **He** was the one who had to make everything all about him. **He** was the one who had the audacity to treat me like I was some sort of child. I can make a pact with whoever the hell I want, and there is **nothing** he can do to stop me.”

The fury rolls off of him, and Satan realizes that he’s transformed.  
_I’ve worked myself up too much._  
Solomon at least looks unaffected. Though Satan can’t decide on whether or not that offends him.

 _Now, time to get down to business._  
“All right, enough chit chat. I’ve said too much already.  
Solomon, make a pact with me.”

Solomon’s reply is instantaneous.  
“No.”

A minute passes, and silence echoes across the room.  
Satan can barely process his response.  
“What did you just say?”

“No, I’m not making a pact with you”.

 _Is this some kind of joke?!_  
“You can’t seriously be planning on rejecting me? You, a human who has formed a pact with 72 other demons ...reject me?”

Solomon has no right. He’s formed a pact with practically everyone. (Even Phenex, and all he does is write poetry and make things out of paper mache!)  
And he has the audacity to tell him no? 

Satan stalks over to him, his books completely forgotten.  
“Don’t you dare trifle with me. Do you think I’m called the avatar of Wrath for nothing?”

But Solomon isn’t even frightened. He looks at Satan as if he’s bored, as if he’s been through this conversation a million times and already knows how it ends.  
“That title is the very reason why. No matter what you are uncontrollable. Unhinged.”

 _Uncontrollable?_  
Satan has done nothing but control himself his entire life. And Solomon is a fool to think that he has a choice, that he even has the option to say no.

“You know, I usually work to contain my anger so it doesn’t show.  
But I will make you suffer if you deny me. And it will be much more cruel and much less humane than anything my brothers would ever do.”

But Solomon remains unperturbed.  
“You’ve done nothing but prove my point. The truth, Satan, is that I don’t need you. You bring nothing to the table. You have nothing to offer. You are _useless._ ”

 _ **How dare he?!**_  
It doesn’t matter that Solomon is one of humanity’s most powerful sorcerers. He is a _human_. He is weak and frail, and Satan can shatter his bones without even flinching.  
Perhaps it’s because of humanity’s inherent stupidity that he doesn’t quite understand the situation he’s in, or who he’s fucking talking to.

“Listen well, Solomon! If you dare say that you won’t make a pact with me again, you’ll pay for it with your-“

There’s a crash, and Satan turns to see Lucifer and the shattered remains of his bedroom door.  
And Lucifer, to say the least, doesn’t look amused.  
“Enough, Satan.”

Satan pauses, his hand inches from Solomon’s throat.  
Does Lucifer really think that he can command him? That Satan will just fall into place because he wills it?  
No. It doesn’t matter that he’s stronger, or that he has the power to annihilate Satan altogether.  
Satan is done. Done with this human, done with this whole program, done with him.  
He steps away from Solomon, and sends Lucifer a look full of pure ire.

Lucifer doesn't falter. He strides forward, and places himself in front of the human.  
“Solomon is our guest, and the only human that Diavolo invited to be a part of our exchange program. I won’t permit you to lay a hand on him.”

It always comes down to Diavolo doesn’t it? How _sickening._  
It’s one of the many things he hates about him. Lucifer is like a broken clock, but one that refuses to even admit that it’s broken.  
He won’t shut up. He never shuts up.  
_And if he’s that concerned about Diavolo then he should just fucking marry him._

“Oh there you go again! Every time you open your mouth it’s Diavolo this, Diavolo that…  
You’re telling me you would actually step in and defend a human? For Diavolo? Well I had no idea you were such a sweetheart…!”

Lucifer frowns, clearly annoyed.  
“Calm down. Don’t give into your rage, Satan.”

And with that single warning Satan _snaps_.  
“You’re telling me not to give into my rage?! You’re really telling me that?! **You** of all demons?!”  
His wrath can no longer be contained. It explodes, shaking the entire room.  
Satan gestures towards his books, and they start flying off the shelves as they fling themselves towards Lucifer.

Lucifer dodges them effortlessly, but Solomon is left vulnerable.  
His eyes widen, as if he honestly didn’t expect Lucifer to leave his side, but he adapts to the situation flawlessly and quickly erects a barrier. The books ricochet off of it, and one slams itself into Lucifer’s jaw.

Lucifer grabs the offending book and snarls,  
“Didn’t you hear me? I told you to stop.”

Satan growls. “Don’t you tell me what to do! And don’t you touch my books!”  
He reaches out to snatch the book from Lucifer’s hand, and it’s only when he touches it that he realizes his mistake.  
Lucifer frowns, “Wait isn’t that-“  
_The Forbidden Tome of Dum As Airy_  
And both him and Lucifer were now holding it.

There’s a flash and a bang, and Satan's entire world begins to spin.  
He feels nauseous, like he’s going to vomit. And his mind is so clouded that it’s hard to think.  
The fog begins to lift when he hears a voice that sounds exactly like his own.  
“No, it can’t be!”

Confused, Satan looks up and sees his own body staring back at him.  
_No. No way._  
“Wh-what’s going on? Why’s there another me here?!”

“So I was right,” the voice responds, “that **was** the book I thought it was.”

There’s only one person in the world that could sound so utterly pretentious, that could make him feel completely annoyed after only a single sentence.  
_**Lucifer.**_

“Lucifer, what’s going on? Why have you taken my form?! What is it you’re plotting?!”

****

Lucifer( _?_ ) (No, it’s still him, even if he has taken Satan’s form) frowns.  
“Calm down Satan. I’m not plotting anything. We’ve simply switched bodies.”

****

“ **WHAT?** ”  
“You tried to take that book from me earlier, didn’t you?”

****

Everything comes rushing back to Satan then; the book, the fight, Solomon.  
There is only one conclusion left for Satan to reach, and it’s _sickening._  
“No… no it couldn’t be..”

****

“Oh I’m afraid it very much is.”

****

Satan rushes over to the one mirror in his room, and Lucifer’s startled expression is looking back at him.  
There can be no denying it.  
He’s in Lucifer’s body. He’s a part of Lucifer once more.

****

~+~+

****

Solomon stands before the rest of the brothers looking far too amused.  
“Solomon, sweetie,” Asmo coos, “are you really telling me that Satan here is Lucifer on the inside, and that Lucifer is Satan on the inside?”  
“Yes, that about summarizes it.”  
Asmo frowns. “Are you sure?”  
“Yes, there’s no need to try and charm me. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”  
“Oh I wasn’t trying to charm you _at all._ But it’s nice to know that you found me tempting anyways.  
Perhaps I could tempt you to-“

****

“Oi,” Mammon snaps, “can you two quit your flirtin’? We’ve got a serious issue here!!”

****

Levi just rolls his eyes.  
“Eh, it’s nbd”

****

“No big deal?! Whaddya mean?! This is a huge deal.”

****

Levi laughs.  
“Lol not really. This is like a standard fan fiction trope. I’ve read it a million times.”

****

Mammon pulls at his hair and growls.  
“This ain’t some fanfic Levi! This is for real!”

****

Satan frowns.  
This entire thing was giving him a headache, and Mammon’s shouting wasn’t doing him any favors. He hated Lucifer, and although it’s only been ten minutes he already hates being in his body.  
But then again, he does look and sound like Lucifer now. Maybe this does have its perks.

****

Satan turns towards his brothers, and let’s out a dramatic groan.  
“Ugh, I can’t believe this is happening… how am I going to explain this to Diavolo…?”

****

Mammon bursts into laughter, and Asmo and Solomon both giggle.  
In between his giggling, Asmo manages to ask,  
“Heh, Satan, were you doing an impression of Lucifer just now?”

****

Satan merely grins, and fires off a couple more impressions, and each one more dramatic than the last.  
Everyone’s laughing now, but Mammon’s laughter is louder than the rest. It echoes across the room and throughout the hallway.  
He gasping for air; begging Satan to stop because he can hardly breathe, and he’s laughing so much that his stomach is in pain.  
But Satan doesn’t care. He simply gives Mammon a very Lucifer like smirk, and fires off another “ _ **Maaaaamooooon**_.”  
Mammon’s laughter grows louder at his response, and Satan can’t remember the last time he’s had this much fun.  
It isn’t until the others start asking him if he takes any requests that Lucifer steps in, effectively ruining the lighthearted atmosphere.  
“Well… I’m glad you are all enjoying yourself.”

****

Mammon merely mutters a sheepish sorry in reply.

****

“So,” Beel speaks up, “are you two going to go back to normal eventually?”

****

There’s a pause, and dread seeps into Satan’s bones.  
The truth is, he doesn’t actually know. The book never mentioned anything about reversing it, and Satan was never all that interested in it’s contents to begin with.  
There’s a possibility that it can be fixed, but there’s also a chance that it could be _permanent.  
He could be stuck in Lucifer’s body forever._  
(And this time, he might not be able to escape it).

****

Solomon decides to finally say something useful.  
“That tome was forbidden for a reason. While there is no known cure, in my lifetime of studying spells I have discovered that no single spell is permanent. A solution exists, and I will help you all in finding it.”

****

Although Satan figured that this was the case, it’s still a good thing to hear. Nothing lasts forever. He’ll be fine. And, though he loathes to admit it, Solomon is one of RAD’s top students. With him on the case surely—

****

“I will find the cure myself. I don’t trust you to give me the right one.”  
Lucifer isn’t on board. Of course he isn’t.

****

Solomon tilts his head, his face a perfect picture of innocence. Yet it’s fake, jarringly so.  
“Why not?”

****

“You will find a way to use this to your advantage. This is a family matter now, so I ask that you stay out of this.”

****

“Very well. But if you ever need my help, you know where to find me.”

****

Solomon flashes Lucifer a wink and then leaves the room, his robe billowing behind him.

****

Well so much for that idea. But still, if Satan puts his mind to it he knows he can find the cure. It just takes finding the right books.  
He turns towards Lucifer and sighs. “As much as I hate the idea of it, I’ll help you in fixing this mess. The sooner I can leave your body, the better.”

****

“Not so fast Satan. You’ll be far too busy with school and Lord Diavolo’s work.”

****

_School? Work??_  
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you insane?”

****

“What did you expect? Of course we’re still going to school. If we stay at home then Lord Diavolo will probably start asking questions.”

****

His brothers nod their heads in agreement.

****

Briefly, Satan considers just pretending to be sick. Anything to prevent him from going to school, from having to run around after Diavolo like some sort of lost puppy.

****

But Asmo quickly crushes that thought.  
“If you try to play it off like you’re sick or something, then he’ll worry even more. He’ll show up at the house and insist on taking care of you.”

****

Lucifer agrees. “I don’t want Diavolo to know that I’ve allowed a mistake like this to happen. We need to remain inconspicuous.”

****

Satan can already feel the anger bubbling up within him once more.  
“So, in the end it’s all about **saving face** , huh?”

****

“Yes, and speaking of-“ he looks at Satan and frowns, “I cannot have you making a fool out of me.”

****

“Or what? You’ll kill me? When I’m in your body?”

****

“Do not forget that I am in your body as well. Whatever you do to my reputation I can do to yours. And Satan, _I can ruin you in less than a day._ ”

****

Mammon jumps in between them with what can only be described as a startled yip.  
“Uh guys, maybe we should uh, tone it down a bit.”

****

Tension blankets the room. Even though Lucifer is in his body, Satan is desperate to punch him, to pummel his face into the ground.  
But Mammon is here, as are his other brothers. They could get hurt.  
So Satan does what he does best, and stores that fury away.  
It seems Lucifer has the same idea. He closes his eyes before taking a deep breath.  
“Satan, until I can find a cure, I need you to **be on your best behavior**. Have I made myself clear?”  
“Crystal.”  
His response, although it was said with malice and anger, alleviates the tension in the room.  
Lucifer sighs.  
“Very well. I’ll hold you up to that.”

****

He leaves the room, and the rest of the brothers eventually file out.  
Satan is left alone.  
Eventually he will leave as well, but first his hands need to stop shaking, and he needs to be able to breathe.

****

Lucifer truly tries to take everything from him doesn’t he?  
His plan for revenge, his desire to have fun, it all gets crushed.  
Because it’s all about _him_ , about that perfect image he has to maintain. Everyone says that Lucifer changed after the fall, but Satan knows better.  
He is the same. His damn pride is still there. The only thing that’s different is the location and the man he’s trying to please.

****

Well, Lucifer can take his pride and shove it up his ass.  
Satan is going to get his revenge either way.  
Plan A might have been a failure, but there is always a plan B. He just needs to figure out what it is.

****

~+~+

****

He has bits and pieces of a plan, but the main elements of it elude him.  
But it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that Lucifer remains unaware of what’s going on, and that means being on his best behavior.  
So Satan plays the part. He changes his uniform, does his hair, and is punctual to every single one of his classes.

****

Asmo and Mammon remained at his side for most of the day. And although they haven’t said anything, Satan can tell that they are worried. They fill the silence up with their constant chatter, although Satan has no idea what they were actually talking about.  
He isn’t listening to them.  
The gaping hole in his plan nags at him. How is he supposed to get his revenge without being obvious about it? What can he do without blowing his cover?

****

Flirting was the first thing that came to mind. Despite his popularity and his many admirers, Lucifer never reciprocated any of their affections.  
All it would take was one person, one demon, to upset that balance. And when they switch back into their own bodies, Lucifer would be forced to deal with the fallout.

****

But still, he needed an in, someone he could interact with that Lucifer wouldn’t think twice about.  
But Lucifer was an incredibly paranoid bastard. Who would even fit the bill?

****

And, just like magic, Diavolo walks by and stops him.  
“Ah, hello there Lucifer. So, what happened this morning? You always stop by the assembly hall after breakfast, but you weren’t there today.”

****

_Perfect._

****

Satan turns towards Diavolo and plasters the widest grin on his face. “Oh hello Diavolo! I’m sooo happy to see you! You’re all I ever think about, honey. I dreamed about you again last night, and then I ended up oversleeping, which is why I wasn’t at the assembly hall!”

****

Asmo and Mammon are doing their best to keep it together, but their giggles are unmistakable.  
Diavolo’s entire expression is blank, and his body is incredibly stiff.

****

_It’s far too easy._

****

“Diavolo, is it just me, or do you look tense? Want me to give you a nice shoulder message? How about your arms? Maybe your legs? If you’re feeling tired, you just let me know, okay?”

****

Diavolo sighs.  
“Actually, now that you mention it, I do feel a bit tense. It’s been a very long day.”

****

“Well, we can't have that, can we?” Satan coos.  
He then reaches for Diavolo’s shoulder, but Diavolo grabs his arm before he can touch him  
“But first, I have important matters I must discuss with you.”  
Satan grins. “Lead the way.”

****

Diavolo leads Satan away from his brothers, away from everyone. They eventually arrive at what appears to be an office, Diavolo’s most likely. It’s exquisitely furnished, covered wall to wall with portraits of the DevilDoms various rulers.  
But Satan doesn’t get time to admire the decor.

****

His eyes are only able to glance around the room briefly before Diavolo grabs his shoulders and shoves him up against the wall.  
His grip is light, all things considered. Strong enough to manhandle Satan and put him in his place, but not painful. And his hold doesn’t last long. Diavolo’s hands move to the wall instead, pinning Satan in.

****

His golden eyes stare into him, as if looking for answers. But Satan will not give in. If Diavolo is going to try and catch him in this lie, then he will have to try harder than that.

****

And as if sensing his thoughts, Diavolo rises to the challenge.  
His hands move. One rests on Satan’s hip, the other one clenches itself into a fist, so that his entire arm is now leaning up against the wall. What little personal space there was before is now completely gone.

****

“That was rather bold of you.” Diavolo whispers in his ear. “Your brothers almost found out about our little secret.”  
Satan frowns. “Our secret?”  
“No need to act so coy. It’s just the two of us here.” Diavolo’s mouth travels down to Satan’s neck, his lips practically caressing Satan’s skin as he whispers, “Now tell me, what kind of game were you playing back there?”

****

Satan breath hitches, and for a split second he seems at a loss for words. But then his gaze reaches Diavolo’s eyes, and something seems to click.  
A slow, mischievous smile makes its way across his face, and he purrs.  
“I have no idea what you are talking about. Perhaps I simply wanted to fluster you for a change.”  
“Mmmm”, Diavolo rumbles in return, “you certainly took me by surprise.”  
“Perhaps that is not the only thing I will take.”

****

Diavolo’s eyes widen, and Satan flips them around. The prince doesn’t have time to react.  
His back is against the wall, and although Satan can’t exactly loom over him (even in Lucifer’s body), he can certainly try.  
He presses up against him, closer than how Diavolo was before.  
And the look on his face is priceless. The incredibly flushed cheeks, his mouth opened in shock;  
_It’s intoxicating._

****

But it doesn’t take long for Diavolo to compose himself. For that flush to fade and for his expression to turn into something more neutral.  
He retaliates.

****

One of his arms snakes around Satan’s waist, pulling him in closer. His eyes are hooded, and there is a fire within them, one that could burn Satan to his very core if he’s not careful.

****

It’s a challenge. And Satan has never felt more competitive in his entire life.

****

Diavolo growls, and their body’s are so close that Satan can feel it vibrating throughout his entire body. It warms him, fills him up with some sort of sticky heat that isn’t fear.  
And for the first time since this whole incident started, Satan’s mind is completely empty.  
There’s nothing there, only that heat, that want.  
The tension is thick, but there is no malice behind it, no anger. Only this new emotion, and Satan has no idea what it is.  
What does he want Diavolo to do?

****

Diavolo breaks the tension before his mind can come up with an answer.  
He caresses Satan’s cheek with his hand, and flashes him a look of pure adoration.  
“You are being incredibly bold today. _I like it._ ”

****

It’s Satan’s turn to flush now, the gesture of affection taking him by surprise. No one other than his brothers has ever touched him, and even then it has never been like this.  
But before he can respond, Diavolo’s phone rings.  
And just like that, the mood is shattered.

****

Diavolo takes one look at the caller ID. “Ah, it’s Barbatos. I’m so sorry my dear, but can we pick this up later?”  
Satan simply nods his head in affirmation.  
Diavolo grins, accepts the call, and leaves the room.

****

Satan frowns.  
_Well, this changes things._

****

Lucifer and Diavolo, the two of them were more intimately entangled than he had expected. But it’s not  
a surprise. The compliments, the praise, Diavolo was never subtle about which one of them he favored the most. The evidence was always right there, plain for everyone to see.  
And the two of them had intended to keep it a secret

****

It makes sense. News about Diavolo falling for his second in command would ruin both of their reputations. Everyone would assume that Lucifer was in charge not because of his power or skill, but because he had simply seduced his way there. And Diavolo would simply be another failed ruler; one who succumbed to his own vices instead of ruling his kingdom. The peace that the two of them coveted would be ruined. Lucifer, and this relationship that he had clearly treasured and built, would be _destroyed_.

****

But it would be foolish to rush in and end it all here. An opportunity like this does not come often. _Leverage_ like this is incredibly rare.  
And if he intends to destroy Lucifer he’s going to need a ton of it.  
Yes, Satan has dreamed of this moment for as long as he can remember. Having Lucifer wrecked and broken before him, proving that he is the strongest of the two. But this is a moment that must be perfect. He can only destroy Lucifer once after all.  
So he will wait until everything falls into place; until his moment to shine finally comes.

****

The warmth from Diavolo’s hand lingers on his cheek. If he and Lucifer are truly a couple, as Satan assumes, then surely they will have to do more. More touches, more caresses, more intimacy. Things that Satan has only ever read about but never actually experienced. 

****

But he cannot falter. Not when the sheer idea of this new plan makes him giddy with excitement.

****

And if he has to act all lovey dovey with Diavolo in order to burn Lucifer to the ground, then so be it.

****


	2. Chapter 2

Satan is walking through the halls when he feels someone grab his arm and pull him behind one of the curtains.  
His survival instincts kick in, and he has half a mind to punch whoever it is that had the audacity to touch him.  
But instead of being greeted by some random demon, he’s greeted by auburn hair and golden eyes.  
Diavolo.

The prince welcomes him with a smile.  
“Good morning!”  
His grin reminds Satan of the human world's sun. It’s bright, far too bright. And for some strange reason, he can’t stare at it for long.  
It must be because he’s tired. Lucifer’s room is terrible, and that creepy statue he has tucked away in the corner didn’t do him any favors.  
Sleep is definitely going to be a hard thing to come by.

“Are you okay?”  
“I’m fine. Just exhausted.“

Diavolo hums and interlaces their fingers.  
“It's no wonder that you’re tired. You’ve been running through my mind all day.”

_What an incredibly cheesy pick up line._  
Still, Satan can’t stop the flush that makes its way across his face, or the embarrassed cough that escapes his lips.  
“It’s only 8 AM. The day has barely started.”

“And yet throughout the rest of the day, you will be on my mind all the same.”  
The flush gets worse. Satan can practically feel his cheeks heat up.  
He hears footsteps in the distance, and all of a sudden he’s incredibly aware of their location. The curtain covers them both, and while it’s true that no one can see them, they also can’t see if anyone is coming.  
_This is bad._  
“We shouldn’t-“

“Shouldn’t what?”

“People will hear.

“Not if you’re quiet.”

“Quiet about wh-“

Diavolo delicately places one of his fingers on Satan’s lips and shushes him.  
And then he’s unbuttoning the collar of Lucifer’s shirt.  
The footsteps are getting closer, and Satan has to suck in a breath as Diavolos fingers gloss over his collarbone.  
_Is this what Lucifer does every morning?_

His Adam’s apple bobs, and Diavolo’s eyes follow the movement. His mouth leans in closer and closer to his throat, and Satan’s entire body tenses in anticipation.  
But before his lips can touch Satan’s skin, the bell rings.  
Diavolo pulls away, a smirk on his face.  
“Ah, I suppose you should head off to class. We can pick up where we left off another time.”

Satan nods. Words fail him now. Any sentence that tries to leave his mouth gets stuck in his throat like honey.  
But he has to say _something_ , do _something_. Lucifer wouldn’t remain silent, would he?

“Tea.”  
“What?”  
“Let’s have tea together. This afternoon.”

“I’d be delighted! We’ll make it a tea party!”  
More footsteps echo in the distance. It won’t be long before students enter the halls.  
_I have to make this quick._  
Satan nods his head, and before he can even process what he’s doing he kisses Diavolo on the cheek.  
“See you then!”  
He doesn’t have time to see Diavolo’s expression. Class starts in two minutes, and if he hurries he can still make it in time.  
No one will know.

~+~+

The final school bell rings, and Satan is stopped before he can leave the room. His own body is looking directly at him.  
“Lucifer, a word?”

He hates that he has to respond to it. That he has to pretend that this name is his own. But at least it appears to bother Lucifer as well. The eldest brother almost broke multiple times when the teacher called his name, and Satan had to smother down a giggle as he answered in his stead.  
_Yes, Lucifer isn’t as infallible as he appears to be._

Satan nods to his question, and stays in the room with him as the other students file out.  
Once they are alone, Lucifer shuts the door, turns to him, and frowns.

“You’re planning something.”

“Me? _I would never_.” 

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

“Hmph, do you take me for an idiot? You’ve said so yourself, there is nothing that I can do to you that you can’t do to me in return. We’re at a stalemate.”

Lucifer’s eyes look critically into his own. After a moment he turns away and sighs. “Good. I need you to be on your best behavior, and to continue performing your work for Lord Diavolo. Meanwhile I will try to find a way to fix this...mess.”

“You’d better hurry up. Being in your body is _sickening_.”

“Trust me, I have no intention of staying in your body longer than necessary.”

Satan turns to leave but Lucifer grabs his arm.  
And strangely enough, Lucifer isn’t angry or annoyed. He looks anxious, _concerned_.  
“Satan, watch yourself around Lord Diavolo. He’s more perceptive than you think.”

Satan merely snorts.  
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep your precious reputation intact.”

His words don’t seem to appease him. If anything the concerned look on his face deepens. But Lucifer says nothing. He nods his head, let’s go of Satan’s arm, and leaves the room.

Satan sighs. The frustration wells within him, and he takes a minute or two to calm down.  
And in the silence of the empty classroom, his phone rings.  
It’s Diavolo. Of course it is.

“Ah, I hope I did not call at a bad time. I was wondering if you still wanted to have tea.”  
Satan pauses. It’s probably a bad idea, but for the sake of his plan he has to continue forward.  
He has to get closer to Diavolo.  
“Of course. I’ve been looking forward to it.”  
“Excellent! Please meet me at my castle. I shall treat you.”

Yes, with how tense and wound up Satan felt, a tea party sounded incredibly tempting. And as he agrees to go, the thought that he would have wanted to even if it wasn’t a part of the plan lingers in the back of his mind.

~+~+

When he arrives at the palace Diavolo greets him with another smile, and Satan wonders if he’ll ever get used to it. The prince babbles on about his day as he brings Satan to the dining hall.

And once Satan sits down at the table that Diavolo had prepared for the two of them, he pauses.  
The entire table is laden with sweets. He doesn’t even know where to begin.  
As if sensing his dilemma, Diavolo gestures to the plate of desserts on his right.  
“You should try this, it’s a chocolate covered apple slice! They are all good of course, but the ones with sprinkles on them are my favorite.”

He picks one up, but instead of placing it on Satan’s plate, he brings it in front of his lips.  
Satan can feel himself blush once he realizes what Diavolo is trying to do. But this is fine, it’s harmless. Couples do this all the time in books and movies.  
So Satan ignores what he assumes is anxiety curling in his stomach, and opens his mouth.  
Diavolo’s fingers brush up against Satan’s lips as he slides the treat in. 

And Diavolo was right, it’s absolutely delicious. Satan grabs another one, this one drizzled with caramel, and lets out a small moan in appreciation.  
He’s not normally one for food, but with stuff like this he thinks he can understand Beel’s love for it. Just a little.

Satan reaches to grab another dessert before he pauses. He’s still just as lost as before. There’s so much to choose from, too much. How many other apples flavored things are there?

Diavolo chuckles.  
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. But you seem a little overwhelmed my dear. Allow me to guide you through the table.”  
He pushes Satan’s empty plate aside, and piles his own plate with various desserts. After he’s done he turns towards Satan and offers him a coy smile. He picks up a tart and brings the fork towards Satan’s lips.  
“Now, let us begin.”

He feeds Satan each dessert one by one, stating what each one is and listing it’s ingredients.  
And it’s all delicious, mouthwateringly so.  
But what’s even better is the way Diavolo attends to him. The prince dotes on him, and hangs on his every word. And from his reaction, you’d almost think that he made these treats himself.  
Satan has never felt this spoiled, this pampered. It’s nice.

There’s a lull in the conversation, but the silence is comfortable. It’s broken once he’s fed a mini strawberry cream tart.  
Diavolo giggles, “You have some whipped cream on your nose.”  
Satan frowns, and then reaches towards his napkin, but Diavolo beats him to it.  
“Allow me.”

He wipes it off for him rather swiftly, but his hand doesn’t leave Satan’s face. It moves down to caress his cheek.  
Satan has to stifle his gasp, but the action still startles him. The pastry he was holding in his hands falls on the floor, and his fingers are now covered in cream.

“Ah, it looks like I missed a spot.”  
But instead of moving the napkin over, he places it back on the table. He gently grabs Satan’s wrist and brings it up towards his mouth, and Satan’s heart skips a beat. He can feel his cheeks warming up, and Diavolo licking his lips and looking up at Satan as if he was the snack certainly didn’t help.  
But before his mouth can touch Satan’s skin, Barbatos enters the room.

Diavolo straightens up and practically scrambles back into his seat.  
Satan quickly grabs the napkin, cleans off his hands, and forces his heart to calm down.

He coughs once or twice for good measure, but no, things are still awkward. A blush is staining the prince’s face, and even though Barbatos hasn’t said anything, Diavolo looks positively chastised.  
Like a cat that got in trouble for almost getting the cream.

Barbatos doesn’t seem perturbed by their behavior. He just raises his brow.  
“My apologies for being late, my Lord. I’ve arrived with your tea, along with the special brew that you’ve requested.”  
“Ah, thank you Barbatos, and for the treats as well. Your work is excellent as always.”  
“I live to serve. Will that be all?”  
“Yes, go give yourself a break. You deserve it.”  
“Thank you my Lord. I will take my leave.”  
He bows towards Diavolo, places the tea tray on the table, and exits the room.  
And luckily for them, the tension leaves with him.

A sigh escapes Diavolo’s lips, and he gets up to serve Satan some tea.  
“I know normally Barbatos would be doing this, but I asked to do it instead.”  
He pours him a cup.  
“This is Citron Tea with honey. I noticed that you were feeling a bit under the weather, so hopefully this will lift your spirits and have you feeling good as new!”

“And what about your tea?”  
Diavolo’s eyes light up.  
“I’m really excited about this one actually! It’s from the celestial realm, and it’s made from the Queen of Olympus plant.”  
“Doesn’t that bloom once every 500 years?”  
“Yes, it’s leaves are rather hard to come by. It’s why Barbatos only had enough to make one cup.”

Diavolo stares at his tea with childlike wonder, and Satan finds himself giggling at the sight.  
“Well go on, what are you waiting for? Try it.”  
Diavolo nods, and then with trepidation, takes a sip.  
His eyes widen, as if he’s just tasted heaven itself.

“This is amazing! You must try some!”  
“But you only have one cup.”  
“That’s okay, you can drink from mine. Please, I insist.”

It’s funny. Instead of being annoyed, Satan almost finds his eagerness endearing.  
He grabs Diavolo’s cup and takes a sip.  
It’s nice, but ironically enough not his cup of tea. He definitely prefers coffee, but maybe that’s because he’s never had tea like this. Despite how often he finds himself hanging out with people, this is his first actual tea party.  
Still, he smiles and gives Diavolo a nod of approval. The prince grins once he gets his tea back, and begins to savor it by taking tiny sips.

He takes a sip of his own tea, and is surprised by the taste. It’s not bitter at all, but it’s also not overly sweet. It’s the perfect balance; the first tea he’s ever tasted that he actually likes.  
It must be the fruity aftertaste. Or perhaps it’s the honey. Either way it’s warm and soothing, and Satan finds himself enjoying it more and more with each sip.

His serenity is disturbed by something nudging his leg.  
He looks down to see Diavolo’s foot, and it nudges him once more. He taps Diavolo’s foot away, only to have the prince tap his in return.

_Footsie? Really? What are they, 12?_  
Yet despite how childish it is, Satan joins in.  
He nudges his foot against Diavolo’s calf, using a bit more force than necessary. After all, he is here to **win**.  
And from the smirk Diavolo flashes his way, it looks like he’s here to do the same.

It turns into a battle as the two of them exchange blows. Both of them struggle to find an opening. Each nudge is followed by another, and many of Satan’s taps are parried.  
Neither one of them appears to be making any lead way, until Satan pauses. It’s strange, because for a split second all he could think about was how much fun he was having.  
That opening was all Diavolo needed.

The prince chuckles as he traps one of Satan’s feet under his own and sends Satan a teasing smirk.  
“Oh, is this the best you can do?”

_Well, he asked for it._

Satan leans forward, acting as if he intends to tease Diavolo by aiming for his thigh. Diavolo grins as he moves to intercept him, but that was all a part of Satan’s plan.  
Satan aims for the chair's leg instead. His foot slams into it, and the chair shatters. Diavolo lets out a yelp as he falls onto the floor.

Satan can’t stop the snicker that escapes his lips, or the bad pun that follows. “You shouldn’t play footsie when you don’t have **a leg** to stand on.”

And Diavolo laughs.  
It’s a loud and boisterous thing, but unlike his normal one there is nothing attractive about it. He snorts like a pig and giggles like a hyena.  
It is not a laughter befitting of a prince; maybe that is why he’s never heard it before. Satan finds himself wanting to hear it again before the reality of what just happened crashes down on him.

There is a bruise staining Diavolo’s cheek from the fall. Lucifer would never have allowed this to happen. He would never have even entertained the idea of playing footsie, nor would he have broken one of his Lord's chairs. And an injury to Diavolo’s face?  
If Lucifer was actually here he would be dead.  
His cover has been blown. Or it will be, if he doesn’t manage to salvage this situation within the next ten seconds.

“My Lord, I am so deeply sorry!”  
He races over to Diavolo’s side, lightly cupping his injured cheek.  
“I don’t know what I was thinking. My apologies, I suppose the lack of sleep was getting to me. Let me get you some ice-“

But before he can leave Diavolo grabs his wrist and places it back on his face.  
“That’s quite alright. I’m fine, see?”

He places his entire hand over Satan’s, and uses it to apply pressure on his cheek. He doesn’t flinch. The bruise must be very minor.  
Satan sighs.  
“Still, I got carried away.”  
“As did I. We are both to blame for this mess.”  
There is a pause, and Satan takes this moment to _breathe_.  
Everything is fine. His cover is flawless.  
_Still. It couldn’t hurt to be more careful in the future_.

“You are too kind. My Lord, allow me.”  
He reaches down and helps Diavolo up.  
The prince brushes off shards of wood and sawdust from his uniform. He looks over at the remains of the chair and grimaces.  
“Allow me to get us another chair, and we can finish having tea.”

The rest of the tea party goes along smoothly. Satan is quiet, save for a few short responses to Diavolo’s questions. He is the perfect model. The perfect guest.  
The perfect Lucifer.  
And yet Diavolo looks unhappy.  
He sets his tea aside, turns to Satan, and questions him. “Are you okay? You’re not normally this reserved around me.”

Satan frowns. “My apologies. I suppose I’ve forgotten my place once more.”

“Then I will remind you! I want you to be yourself around me. Like that joke you told me earlier, I enjoyed it.”

_Be myself? What does that even mean?_  
It’s impossible for Satan to be himself and be an individual. He isn’t a real person, a real demon. He’s told himself this time and time again.  
Yet, ever since he’s focused on imitating Lucifer; Diavolo has shown him nothing but looks of suspicion.

_Perhaps I don’t know Lucifer as well as I thought._

The thought is strange. He’s known Lucifer. He’s been _in_ him.  
Yes, it was a long time ago, but still, the idea of Lucifer changing is laughable. He will always be the same. Just as Satan will always be… this.  
Whatever he is.

And for some reason, Diavolo wanted more of that.  
But Satan doesn’t know how to give it to him. Once you remove the persona of Lucifer, what’s left? There is nothing behind Satan’s personality. Unlike his brothers he is not dynamic, not special.

Diavolo’s hand reaches across the table as he interlaces their fingers, and Satan is brought back to the present.

_… Was I honestly suspicious because I was trying to act too much like Lucifer?_  
The thought is still weird, but it’s an easy change to make. If Diavolo wants “Satan” instead of Lucifer, then that is what he will get. If anything, it makes his entire plan a whole lot easier.  
He grins and nudges Diavolo’s foot with his own.

_Time for round two._


	3. Chapter 3

Satan is sitting in one of his classes when his phone vibrates.  
It’s a text from Diavolo.  
Confusion washes over him before it clicks. _Oh right. I’m in Lucifer’s body. This is Lucifer’s phone._  
The movie drones on in the background, and Satan’s curiosity gets the better of him

>   
>  Diavolo: What’chu up to?  
>  Satan: I’m in class  
>  Diavolo: And you answered my text? Naughty thing.  
>  Satan: We’re watching a movie. I won’t be missing much.  
>  Diavolo: Oh? What is it?  
>  Satan: Elemental Illusion. I’ve seen it before.  
>  Diavolo: I’ve heard about that one! With Raum playing as the Merlin, the great and powerful sorcerer!  
>  Satan: Yes. It’s actually pretty good as far as documentaries go. You sound like a fan.  
>  Diavolo: It was one of my favorite movies growing up. It’s a shame I don’t have time to watch it anymore.  
>  Satan: Then why don’t we watch it together  
> 

Panic washes over him.  
 _Wait, what did I get myself into?_  
But before he can say anything else Diavolo has already responded.

>   
>  Diavolo: I see, you wish to Netflix and chill, as the kids are calling it these days. I’d be delighted!  
> 

Well, it’s far too late to take it back now. But even then Satan was not opposed to the idea. It truly was a good movie, and he had never watched one with Diavolo before.

_What would it be like?_

His fingers typed out the message before he could contemplate it any further.

>   
>  Satan: Then I’ll see you at your palace in about three hours.  
>  Diavolo: What about your class?  
>  Satan: I’m skipping.  
>  Diavolo: People will talk.  
>  Satan: Not if they believe I’ve been sent on an important errand by the prince himself  
>  Diavolo: How devious of you. I’ll look forward to your arrival ;)  
> 

~+~+

He arrives at the castle and sees Diavolo waiting for him out front. But the prince wasn’t wearing his usual attire. It was something far more casual.  
Yes, if Satan didn’t know any better, he would have mistaken him for a student.

But it was a good look on him. The black button down shirt, the rolled up sleeves, the jeans. Diavolo looked like a normal person. He didn’t look like a prince, like someone who had the entire future of the Devildom riding on their back. The air of royalty was gone.

It was ...strange, but certainly not unwelcomed.

Diavolo grins as soon as he sees Satan’s face.  
“Come in and make yourself at home, I’ve already got the movie set up!”

But for some reason Diavolo leads him to an empty room.  
“I don’t see anything-“  
“Just wait.”

He snaps his fingers, and the room _changes_. A couch and a TV popped into existence, along with a coffee table and… flowers?

He places the flowers in a vase, but not before taking one and putting it behind Satan’s ear.  
He snaps his fingers once more and everything practically comes to life.  
The title screen for _Elemental Illusion_ is displayed on the TV, and the lighting for the room has dimmed.  
Pillows are piled on top of the couch, and Satan can even see blankets buried beneath them.

He really went all out.  
But still, Satan can’t help but tease him.  
“What, no snacks?”

Diavolo just grins.  
“Ah, Barbatos is out today, so I’m afraid he’s unable to make us any treats. That’s why I took the liberty of making them myself!”

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“I’m the prince of the Devildom! There’s nothing I can’t do!”

He gestures towards the couch.  
“Please, take a seat. I’ll be back with our snacks shortly.”

Satan nods and makes himself comfortable. 

Diavolo flashes him a wink, starts the movie, and heads towards what Satan assumes is the kitchen.

Over twenty minutes have passed, and Diavolo is still questionably absent.  
_What could be taking him so long?_  
Satan's curiosity once again gets the better of him, and he leaves to go check up on him.

He’s startled by what he finds.

The kitchen is a nightmare. Burned popcorn kernels litter the floor, and pots and pans are half hazardously stacked on top of one another, each one with an unidentifiable substance burned into the bottom.

And Diavolo is there, desperately fighting with the taffy he has rolled out on the counter. It sticks to his hands and falls apart as he attempts to stretch it out.  
And although Satan is missing the movie, he’s enjoying this show a whole lot more.

The taffy is blue, he notices, an incredibly bright shade of blue. Diavolo has obviously used too much food coloring. It stains his hands and the counter.

He picks it up with his hands and attempts to stretch it, but the taffy doesn’t give. Instead it just falls back on the counter with a loud splat.  
A low growl escapes Diavolo’s lips.  
Nevertheless, he tries again.

At first, it seems like this might be it. The taffy is adequately stretched out, and it’s still in one piece.  
A victorious _‘hah!’_ is emitted from Diavolo’s lips. But then he goes to remove it from its hands.

It’s stuck.

The taffy clings to his right hand, and Diavolo frowns. He tries to shake it off, lightly, but to no avail.  
And then Satan sees it, the horns that are starting to poke through Diavolo’s head.  
_He must be more worked up than I thought._

He tries to use his other hand to pry it off, but that one only ends up getting stuck as well. And then the middle of the taffy caves in, and it falls apart onto the floor.

Diavolo snaps. He transforms, grabs what remains of his taffy, and throws it with a snarl.

The taffy flies in Satan’s direction, but he dodges it effortlessly. It clings to the wall behind him with a thunk.  
He chuckles, and Diavolo’s eyes finally land on him.  
The prince's eyes widen, and a small flush paints his cheeks.

“Ah, how long have you been there?”

Satan doesn’t answer, just offers him a grin.  
“Would you like some help?”

Diavolo coughs and looks towards the ground. He’s sheepish, Satan realizes. 

_How adorable._

“...That would be nice, yes.”

Satan tosses Lucifer’s coat on the floor and rolls up his sleeves.  
“Then let's get started.”

~+~+

In all honesty, Satan doesn’t quite know where to begin.  
The stove, along with the popcorn, seems like a safe bet. He goes over there to survey the damage.  
The stovetop is set to its highest setting.  
“There’s your problem. The heat’s cranked up too high.”

“Ah,” Diavolo mumbles, “I was in a bit of a rush, so I turned up the heat to make it cook quicker.”

Satan snickers. “And you thought that would work?”

He turns towards Diavolo, and sees that the prince is pouting.  
“I’ve never had to cook before. Ever since I was born I had people to do it for me, and by the time they left I had Barbatos.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing you have me here to teach you.”

And the smile that Diavolo gives him is soft, shockingly so.  
“Yes. It is.”

Even though he says that he’s inexperienced, with a bit of guidance Diavolo is cooking the popcorn with ease.

“For someone who’s never cooked, you seem to have parts of it down.”

Diavolo flushes. “Ah, I might have assisted Barbatos in making sweets for our tea party. He made it look so easy, so I assumed that I could do this on my own. But as you can see,” he gestures vaguely towards the rest of the kitchen, “it’s more complicated than I thought.”

Satan chuckles and then begins working on the taffy. He adds the water, sugar, salt, and corn syrup to the pot and brings it to a simmer.

He doesn’t even notice that Diavolo is done with the popcorn until he’s whispering in his ear.  
“You are a natural.”

His hands make their way around Satan’s waist as he embraces him from behind, his head resting on Satan’s shoulder as he watches him cook.

Satan falters, but only briefly. If he focuses on the food then he can forget that Diavolo’s there, that his cheek is right up against Satan’s neck.  
He isn’t even that good of a cook, not really. All of his brothers have more talent than him. Even Mammon, once you brush aside his dumb ideas, has potential.  
Satan just reads.  
“It’s not that difficult.”

But Diavolo doesn’t seem swayed at all.  
“There’s no need to sell yourself short. You’re incredibly talented. And we’ll be relying on that talent today.”

_Hmm. Whatever he says._

He takes the taffy off the heat and let’s it cool. Now all that’s left to do is add the food coloring.

Satan reaches for it, but Diavolo grabs his wrist.  
“Actually, I was hoping we could make it a different color.”  
“What color do you want?”  
“Green.”

_...Green?_

Satan can feel himself start to panic.  
Blue, and then green. His and Lucifer’s colors respectively.  
Is this just a coincidence, or… does he know?

No, it’s important not to jump to conclusions. Any little thing could give himself away, and in order for his plan to succeed Diavolo must never find out.  
So Satan calms himself, takes a deep breath, and throws on a neutral expression.

“Green?”

“Yes, like Raum’s hair.”  
Diavolo looks up at him, his face the perfect picture of innocence. And Satan can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s serious.

_Ah, I’ve just been paranoid then._

A sigh of relief passes through Satan’s lips, and a small grin makes its way across his face.  
“Green it is.”

~+~+

While that batch is cooling he starts another one.  
And Satan once again finds himself tapping Diavolo’s hand away with the wooden spoon.  
“Oi, stop trying to eat the taffy mix”

“But it’s good!”

“It’s nothing but corn syrup and sugar. How could it be good?”

“I don’t know. **Why don’t you try some?** ”

Diavolo scoops up some of the taffy mix with his fingers and tries to smear some of it on Satan’s face. Satan chuckles and lightly shoves him away.  
But Diavolo is not easily swayed, nor does he give up. The two of them laugh and push each other around a bit before they both hit the counter.

There’s a clank, the silverware rattles, along with the open bottle of corn syrup that is right next to their unprepared taffy.  
It titters over before falling into the bowl.

There’s a pause.  
Diavolo tries to remain optimistic.  
“... maybe it’s salvageable?”

_It isn’t._

What remains is nothing but a pile of green goop.

Satan dips his finger in the bowl, and tries tasting it for good measure.  
...That was a mistake. It tastes terrible now.  
He must have pulled a funny face, because Diavolo starts snickering.

_Hmph. I’ll give you something to laugh about._

Satan smirks, dips his hand into the ruined taffy mix once more, and flings it at Diavolo.  
It’s a perfect headshot. Levi would have been proud.

A baffled expression paints Diavolo’s face, along with that green goop. And the combination of the two makes him look absolutely ridiculous.  
Satan can’t help but laugh.  
So he doesn’t notice Diavolo’s devilish grin, nor does he see him wipe the stuff off his face and take aim at Satan’s neck.

Diavolo hits his target.  
The gross sticky substance smacks right into the back of Satan’s neck, and cascades down his shirt and onto the floor.  
Diavolo looks him up and down and giggles.

_This means war._

~+~+

It doesn’t take long for things to become chaotic, and for the kitchen to have a thin layer of taffy coating it.

Diavolo aims another volley of attacks at Satan, and Satan scrambles out of the way and ducks behind a counter.

He’s saved, but the microwave behind him was not.  
The taffy slams into it, causing the microwave to hiss and sputter. The impact itself has the door hanging off by its hinges.

There’s another volley of taffy to his left and right. Diavolo’s attacks are relentless, trapping him in. Satan is unable to move from his spot without getting hit.  
He’s losing ground.  
Satan quickly surveys his surroundings. His eyes pause when they glance over what remains of the microwave.

...He shouldn’t. This food fight is already too ridiculous, too childish. The last thing he should do is escalate the situation even more.  
All he has to do is give up and let Diavolo win.

_...Fat chance._

Besides, the microwave is already ruined. It’s not like it can get any more broken.  
So, with that thought in his head, Satan quickly races to the microwave and rips the hanging door off its hinges.  
He holds it as a makeshift shield and begins to advance. One by one he blocks each of Diavolo’s attacks as he stalks towards him.

The prince grows desperate, his throws becoming more rapid and out of pace.  
But when Satan arrives, merely inches from Diavolo’s body, he isn’t greeted by a look of fear. It’s a mischievous smile instead.

And that’s when Satan realizes that he's fucked up. He doesn’t have any ammo, most of it is smeared on his body beyond recognition; his shield laid several feet away, and Diavolo was standing right next to their half filled mixing bowl.

Satan is unable to react in time, and Diavolo picks the bowl up and dumps the entire thing over his head.  
It’s awful. It feels completely and utterly gross.  
But Diavolo is a fool for thinking that he’s down and out of the count.  
As the prince lets out a loud boisterous laugh, Satan tackles him.  
The two of them wrestle on the floor, taking turns smearing one another with their failed creation.  
Their laughter echoes throughout the kitchen.  
Eventually it all simmers down, and Satan finds himself pinning Diavolo to the floor.

They are both a mess. Satan can feel the goop, that slimy substance, cling to almost every part of his body. It drips down off his hair into Diavolo’s face. The prince isn’t looking much better. He’s almost entirely covered in green.  
And Satan can’t help but think that it suits him. _His_ color suits him.  
Diavolo should wear green more often. 

He looks up at Satan and smiles.  
“I suppose this is a draw then.”

He’s out of breath. They both are.  
Still, Satan has enough energy to flash him a cocky grin.  
“For now.” 

There’s a pause, a beat, and Satan realizes that he’s still straddling Diavolo on the kitchen floor. Warmth floods through him as he frantically pushes Diavolo away and stands up.

Diavolo gets up as well, and now they can finally get a good look at one another, at the mess they have made. Satan knows that he should feel guilty, they both should, but all he feels is incredibly entertained (and uncomfortably sticky).

Diavolo lets out an embarrassed cough.  
“Ah, we should probably wash up. You can use the guest bathroom, it’s the second door to the left.”

Satan tries to shake more of the goop off of him, but it remains stubbornly attached; to his skin, his clothes, his hair.  
It’s disgusting.  
_Yes. A shower sounds perfect._

~+~+

The first thing he notices when he enters the bathroom is that the walls are decked head to toe with mirrors .  
The second thing is Lucifer’s reflection.  
He looks like an idiot, covered in green goop.  
Satan has half a mind to just leave it there, and to go back into the kitchen and smother more on his hair for good measure.  
But that will probably give him away, so a shower it is.

Satan goes to remove his shirt before he pauses.  
Right, he’ll have to see Lucifer’s… everything.  
_Gross._

Satan steals himself, takes off his clothes, and heads in the shower. And when he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that he’s in his own body instead.  
It makes cleaning easier.

Reality hits him when he steps out of the shower. Lucifer’s body is _there_ , with nothing to cover it up.  
It’s littered with scars.  
His chest is the only thing that remains perfect and pristine. The rest of his body is marred.  
Yet all of those scars have faded. If it wasn’t for the lighting, then Satan would probably have never noticed them.  
Well, except for one.  
His eyes are drawn to the back of Lucifer’s shoulders. To the twin pair of scars that haven’t faded, and are a sickening shade of purple.  
Satan knows what they are, and feels like he’s going to vomit.

His birth. His existence. It’s all tied to Lucifer. No matter what he does, nothing can change that. Nothing _will_ change that. He is nothing but a scar on Lucifer’s body. A mistake he can never get rid of.

Rage flows through his veins. He has half a mind to shatter every mirror in this room, to claw at those scars and ruin them beyond recognition. 

In his anger he transforms, and black wings sprout on Lucifer’s back. They mock him. Their very existence mocks him.  
A pair of wings; he's not even good enough to cost the full set. In the midst of everything that Lucifer is, Satan is truly just a fragment of it.  
He thought that he was bigger, that this twisted connection went both ways.  
But it doesn’t, does it?

There’s a knock on the door.  
It’s shortly followed by Diavolo’s voice.  
“Are you alright? You’ve been in there awhile.”

Satan takes a deep breath, throws all of those emotions in a box, and responds.  
“I’m fine. I’ll be out there in a bit.”

Diavolo let’s out a light chuckle.  
“I should hope not! I forgot to get you a change of clothes earlier. I’ll leave them in front of the door.”  
“Right. Thanks.”  
“Of course. I’ll be waiting.”

Satan waits until Diavolo’s retreating footsteps leave, and opens the door.  
He grabs the pile of clothes and slams the door shut.  
There isn’t much there. Just a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt.  
_I suppose boxers would be a bit much._

Either way, it’s time to get changed. Diavolo is waiting, and Satan doesn’t want to look at Lucifer’s body any more than he has to.  
He starts with the pants. They fit at least, although they hang low on his hip. The shirt comes next, and before Satan even puts it on he knows it’s going to be a disaster.  
It’s huge.

Nevertheless, he puts it on. And right away he’s hit by the smell.

It smells exactly like Diavolo. A mixture of expensive cologne, old documents, and something else. Something that is uniquely him.  
It’s not a terrible smell by any means, but it’s weird.  
It makes him feel weird, like there are millions of butterflies flying around in his stomach.

His rage from earlier must have worked him up more than he thought.

Satan takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, and then glances in one of the many mirrors.

The shirt fits loosely on Lucifer’s frame. No matter how many times he adjusts it, it sags to one side, exposing Lucifer’s scars. Those very scars that he hated to look at, the ones that made him feel _sick_.

No, he can’t afford to go into another fit again.  
He takes another deep breath, and Diavolo’s scent ends up filling his nose.  
That fluttery feeling fills up his stomach. It makes him feel sick, nauseous to the point where he might throw up, but this is different. It’s… good.  
The warmth that fills him up this time is nice, calming in a way. Whatever this emotion is, it’s something that he can handle.  
It’s something other than rage and self loathing.  
And with that, he’s finally ready to step out of the bathroom and join Diavolo on the couch.

~+~+

Diavolo pats the spot next to him. “Don’t be shy! I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise!” He then waggles his eyebrows, and Satan struggles to hide the giggle that attempts to pass through his lips.  
He sits next to Diavolo, and Diavolo drapes one of his arms behind Satan’s back before placing the popcorn bowl between them.

The movie is more lackluster than Satan remembers. It’s not terrible by any means, but it’s awfully slow with its plot and pacing. And it’s incredibly hard to pay attention to it when there’s something far more interesting in front of him.

Diavolo doesn’t say a word, but his reactions are painted clearly on his face.  
His mouth hangs open in shock with every plot twist. His fingers tremble every time the protagonist is in danger. And a large smile makes its way across his face every time the hero’s overcome their obstacles. When the dog almost dies at the end he cries.

Satan has never met anyone like him before, anyone this expressive. Diavolo wears his emotions on his sleeves and is unafraid to flaunt them.  
It’s not something Satan can relate to.

It’s late, and Satan’s so focused on watching Diavolo that he doesn’t even know when the movie ends. It isn’t until Diavolo starts talking and babbling about the ending that it finally registers in his brain.

Their movie night is over, and he’s exhausted. He should go home.  
As if sensing his thoughts, Diavolo places one of his hands on Satan’s shoulders.  
“I have more movies, if you are willing. The night is still young after all.”

“I don’t know—“

He is tired, and in dire need of a nap. Satan lets out a yawn.

But the prince looks up at him with what can only be described as puppy eyes.  
_Well, one more movie couldn’t hurt_.

Diavolo starts the next movie, and after twenty minutes Satan doses off. He finds himself leaning on Diavolos chest. Diavolo’s arms wrap around him and it’s _comfortable_ , breathtakingly so.  
He tries to sit up more, but Diavolo’s embrace prevents him from doing so.  
“Get some rest. You deserve it.”

Satan frowns. “I’ll miss our movie.”

“We can always watch it again later. Your health is more important.”

“I’m not even tired.”  
His statement is contradicted by a yawn, and the smuggest grin makes its way across Diavolo’s face.

“Fine,” Satan grumbles, “but wake me up once they get on the train. That’s my favorite part.”

Diavolo hums in acknowledgement, and Satan shuts his eyes. 

Several hours pass.  
He wakes up to the TV turned off, and Diavolo looking down at him.

It takes a split second for him to notice, but Satan sees it. Diavolo’s gaze lingers on his exposed shoulder, on Lucifer’s scars.  
And from the look on his face, he’s noticed that Satan’s noticed. The prince only looks slightly abashed.

“Do you dislike them?”

 _He’s obviously referring to the scars_.  
“What is there to like?”

Diavolo’s hands shift, and one of them rests on Satan’s knee.  
“Plenty of things, but allow me to give you the most important reason.  
Those scars are proof that you exist.”  
“...And what if I don’t want to?”

_Shit. I didn’t mean to say that out loud._

It was a whisper more than anything, but it doesn’t matter. Diavolo heard it.  
He frowns and Satan adverts his eyes. There is a silence, a pause that seems to stretch on and on. 

Diavolo breaks it. “I-I cannot speak for everyone, including yourself. But I am glad to have you here, and I’m incredibly thankful to have met you.”

Satan looks up, and meets Diavolo’s gaze. The look in his eyes is soft, worried, concerned.  
He can’t help but wonder if his brothers would feel that way. Would his brothers actually care if he was gone? Would they even notice?

But the look in Diavolo’s eyes snaps him out of those thoughts. Yes, when he looks at him like that, Satan can almost believe that he knows; that it’s him Diavolo is seeing and not Lucifer.  
But that’s impossible. The prince would never say those things about him.  
They aren’t even friends.

But even so, the thought and sentiment of Diavolo’s words resonates within him.  
It’s amazing. The darkness, the anger; with one short sentence Diavolo managed to quell it all.  
This feeling, this peace, he’s only had a taste of it. And yet Satan could feel how easy it would be to become addicted to it.  
Addicted to Diavolo’s praise. Addicted to his kindness.

Perhaps it’s okay to pretend, just for tonight, that it is him Diavolo addresses.  
Yes, Lucifer can go fuck himself. For the rest of the night he doesn’t exist.

He nods, and grabs the hand that Diavolo had resting on his knee. He squeezes it.  
“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  
His reply is soft, almost a whisper.  
The two of them sit there for a moment and do absolutely nothing. No words, no additional touches. They just sit there and enjoy the silence, enjoy the company.

It’s getting late, but Satan finds he doesn’t want to go home just yet. There’s a small part of him that doesn’t feel ready to face Lucifer or his brothers.  
His eyes flicker across the room, and he notices an additional DVD out on the table. One that hadn't been opened yet.  
The opportunity is there, and Satan refuses to ignore it.  
“Do we have time for one more movie?”

Diavolo’s reply is almost instantaneous.  
“Of course.”

Diavolo gets up and starts the movie. Once he sits back on the couch the two of them resume their previous positions.  
They are cuddling, Satan realizes briefly. His head is resting on Diavolo’s chest, and Diavolo’s arm is wrapped around his waist. The thought should bother him, but he feels at peace.

They watch the rest of the movie like that. Halfway through Diavolo holds one of his hands, and even after the movie is over it stays.  
They continue holding hands as Diavolo escorts him back to the House of Lamentation, and the prince gives his hand a brief squeeze when they have to part.

It’s strange. His hands should feel cold after leaving Diavolo’s grasp, but they're warm. And that warmth lingers as Satan makes his way to Lucifer’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to thank everyone for all of their positive comments and feedback. I might not reply to them, but they mean a lot to me.  
> I'm also really glad that you guys are enjoying this fic so far!
> 
> My tumblr (and twitter) is @s8ncake, if you ever want to stop by and say hi.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s amazing really, how quickly Diavolo becomes a part of his routine.  
No matter what he is there; texting Satan good morning, meeting him in the council room for breakfast, having him fill out piles upon piles of paperwork. He can’t even remember the last time he was able to just sit down and read.  
It’s so inherently different from what he did before. In a strange way, the world seems bigger when his head isn’t buried in a book. And for some reason, with Diavolo by his side, it also seems much brighter.

Yet, even with a routine set in place, the prince always had a habit of catching him by surprise. The text that he receives this morning, for example, is inherently different from his usual _‘Good morning Sunshine!!!’_

>   
>  Diavolo: I need your help. It’s an emergency
> 
> Satan: What is it?
> 
> Diavolo: I bought this new desk from Devilkea and I need your help putting it together
> 
> Satan: That doesn’t sound like an emergency 
> 
> Diavolo: It’s been five hours and I’ve somehow managed to make a chair.  
>  Please. Before I end up ripping this thing in half.
> 
> Satan: Haha, I’ll be right there. 

So that’s how Satan finds himself arriving at Diavolo’s castle at 7 AM. And once Diavolo brings him into the room, and Satan sees his attempt at building the desk in question, he’s never been more happy to be a morning person.

~+~+  
Instead of a desk, there is something that greatly resembles a chair. Given Diavolo’s texts earlier, that’s not surprising.

What is surprising, however, is Barbatos sitting on the couch, casually reading a newspaper.

The butler answers Satan’s question before it can even leave his mouth.  
“I’m here to make sure the two of you actually get something done for once.”

_Hmm. Fair enough._

Satan looks towards the chair once more and frowns.  
He’s never had to build anything from Devilkea before. All of their furniture at the House of Lamentation was already assembled when they arrived. But that’s no matter. Satan excels at reading and following instructions.  
How hard could it be?

Diavolo silently hands him the booklet, and Satan’s mind blanks.  
...What is he looking at?

The instructions are there, but it’s not written in one complete language. The rest of it isn't even written out at all, it’s just pictures.  
And one of those pictures looks like a… raven?  
What does a raven have to do with a writing desk?

Diavolo’s eyes are brimming with optimism as he pats Satan on the back.  
“I know it’s confusing, but with you by my side I know we can do this!”

_That’s easier said than done._

But still, they can save those questionable instructions for later. Right now they have to focus on taking that chair apart.

~+~+

Disassembling the chair is difficult, especially when Diavolo doesn’t quite remember how he managed to force those pieces to fit together in the first place.

But, there is one person in the room that would know exactly what Diavolo did, and how to undo it.

Barbatos remains sitting on the couch in the exact same position he was in before. He’s like a statue almost. And in order to get this thing done, they need that statue to _move._

So Satan tries to put on his most charming grin.  
“Oh Barbatos, if you’re not busy, could you help us fix this mess? An extra set of hands would be greatly appreciated.”

Diavolo nods, and gives Barbatos a very puppy eyed pout.  
“You know I always value your input.”

The sound of Barbatos lowering his newspaper echoes across the room. He sends them a cold smile.  
“I personally think you both should leave it as a chair. I could use it to replace one of the four chairs that the two of you ended up on breaking by playing _footsie_ of all things.  
Or perhaps we could fashion it into a microwave. We need one of those now too.”

He lifts the paper back up and crosses his legs. The butler is obviously making himself comfortable.

_Ah, so he isn’t going to be of any help._

In the end, although it did take longer than Satan would have liked, his assistance wasn’t needed. Both he and Diavolo were a formidable team, and once they put their heads together they were easily able to undo all of the prince's handiwork. 

Now they can start back at square one.

And once Satan picks up the instructions again, he remembers how terrible square one was in the first place.  
But that’s okay, there’s nothing he can’t solve. All he has to do is handle it all step by step, like a math problem.  
So with that plan in mind, Satan starts translating and rewriting every single step.

Diavolo watches silently the whole time, only speaking up to offer his opinion or support when Satan asks for it. Soon it becomes less of a headache and more of a puzzle. And between the two of them, it gets solved in no time flat.

Diavolo looks at their newly written instructions and grins.  
“You’re brilliant, you know that? It’s amazing that you know so many languages.”

Satan shrugs off his compliment with ease.  
“I’m full of surprises.”

His attention shifts back towards building the desk, so he doesn’t hear Diavolo’s retort.

“That you are.”

~+~+

Satan knows that he’s the one who’s translated it, but that still doesn’t make their instructions any less ridiculous.

“It’s a riddle. Why does the next step involve a riddle?”

“What does it say?”

Satan furrows his brows. “What’s in the middle of March or April that can’t be seen at the beginning or end of either month?”

He racked his brain for a holiday, or at least something similar that could coincide with both months. He doesn’t have to think long before Diavolo beats him to the punch.

“It’s the letter R. We use piece R.”

 _Ah, I was overthinking that one._  
It’s a bad habit it falls into sometimes. It’s far too easy to analyze and think about all of the possibilities in front of him, so he often misses the things that are right underneath his nose.  
Diavolo seems to be the opposite. Of all of the possibilities in the world, the prince only ever seems to focus on one. And together, well, they seem to balance each other out.  
It makes building this desk easier at least

Diavolo flashes him an incredibly smug grin. “I believe this puts me in the lead.”

A chuckle leaves Satan’s lips. “It’s not a competition.”.

“You’re right. Because if it was I would win.”

“Well, aren’t you cocky. Didn’t you come to me begging for help?”

“Maybe I just wanted to enjoy your company.”

Satan raises his brow. “With your new chair and nonexistent desk?”

“...touché.”

There are several more riddles after that, and they each take turns solving them. No one was keeping score, but if they did, they’d find out that they were tied.

~+~+

The desk is almost completed, but Satan is not looking forward to the next part. The remaining pieces have to be summoned in, and the sigil that they are provided with is the one thing that Satan didn’t touch.

Satan sighs. “Once we use this to summon in the rest of the parts that we need, we transmute it all into wood. From there everything else is straightforward.”  
Theoretically it should be easy, but instructions also aren’t usually this hard to follow. They are also typically completed in at least one language.  
His expectations aren’t all that high.

Diavolo, at least, has yet to run out of energy or optimism. “I’ll do the honors!”

Satan hands the paper off to Diavolo, and the prince places it on the ground. He starts the incantation, and through the small puff of smoke pops out…  
...a frog?

Diavolo flushes, rips the paper off the ground, and looks it over. He growls. “They wrote it wrong! This isn’t even a circle it’s an ellipse at best, and that isn’t even the right rune—

_Yes, that sounds about right._

Satan lets out an amused chuckle. He turns around, places a finger on Diavolo’s lips, and softly shushes him. “Don’t worry, I can fix it. Just give me a minute.”

Diavolo nods, and Satan goes to work.

It’s an easy fix, but the manufacturer still botched the spell up pretty bad. Nevertheless, several minutes later there’s a pile of plastic in front of them. And Diavolo looks incredibly impressed, far too impressed.

“That was amazing! And the fact that you were able to fix it so quickly, I would have been stuck for hours.”

This time, Satan finds himself becoming flustered underneath his praise. No matter what Satan does, it seems to be never ending. “It’s nothing.”

And it really is nothing. The spell, the change, any one of his brothers could have fixed it. In fact, Lucifer would have had it fixed before he even handed it off to Diavolo. Satan is good at what he does, but he isn't the best. That’s what everyone else is for.

Diavolo clasps his shoulder. “It’s not nothing. Are you unaware of how talented you are?”

Satan says nothing. In truth he never considered himself to be all that talented, not really. Yes, he knows how to do things, but that's just because he reads. Anger is the only thing has ever come naturally to him, and everything else he had to acquire for himself. He was born with nothing to call his own. The only reason he even exists is because Lucifer wanted to have a clean slate. His _brother_ wanted to cleanse himself of his greatest sin, so he threw Satan to the curb as soon as he had the chance.

And where does that leave him?

Scouring through books, doing anything and everything he can to prove that he's an individual, that he's essential. But Satan isn't even confident that he succeeded on that front. Yes, if he ever stopped, if any of his brothers ever actually applied themselves, he'd be replaced in a heartbeat. There was no other reason for anyone to keep him around after all. It's not like anyone likes him for his _personality_.

His thoughts are interrupted by Diavolo quietly asking him if he's okay.

There's a look of concern on the prince's face, and his hand makes its way towards Satan’s cheek, but Barbatos clears his throat before it can make contact.

The butler still isn’t looking up from his newspaper, yet Satan can feel his eyes on him, on the both of them.

“I trust that one of you two will take care of this frog?”

The frog that Diavolo summoned earlier rests on Barbatos’s head. It’s large, abnormally so. In fact, from far away it could have been mistaken for a very cute hat.

Satan can't stop the teasing comment that passes through his lips.  
“Excuse me for saying this, but I think it’s a good look on you.

Diavolo chuckles and joins in. “I agree. It’s green skin brings out the green in your eyes.”

Barbatos just gives them a deadpanned laugh.  
“Very funny you two. But if it’s not removed from the palace within the next ten seconds, I **will** find a timeline where it is. And in that timeline, you might not have any hair.”

And with that threat, the room feels twenty degrees colder.  
Diavolo quickly falls into line.  
“I’ll get right on that Barbatos, just give me a moment!”

He swiftly turned towards Satan, but there was no need for him to say anything. Satan was already one step ahead of him, drawing the beginnings of a summoning circle on the floor.

No words were exchanged, and yet they hatched a plan together. Just like that.  
It’s funny, but the idea of them being in sync with one another, if only for a moment, makes Satan feel at ease. Even with Barbatos’s eyes glaring into the back of his head.

It doesn’t take long before the frog is caught and teleported somewhere else.

“So,” Diavolo questions, “where did you summon him to?”

“Satan’s room.”  
It was the first place Satan could think of. And besides, Lucifer should be in there by now. He could use a bit of surprise in his life.  
He tells Diavolo just as much, omitting the part about Lucifer.

The prince lets out a low chuckle.  
“You _naughty_ thing.”  
It’s soft, almost a whisper, but Satan hears it.  
It sends shivers down his spine. He can feel his face start to flush. It’s a terrible, terrible idea, but Satan almost wants to hear it again.

Barbatos lets a loud cough before Satan can even think about acting on it.  
“Allergies, my apologies.”

Right. They aren’t alone.

Diavolo awkwardly clears his throat and turns away. He pauses, and out of the corner of his eye Satan can see him bite his lip. He wants to say something, the desire in his eyes is obvious. So why is he holding back?

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is that you were going to say, whatever it is that’s on your mind, I want you to tell me.”

A light blush paints Diavolo’s cheeks, and he mumbles underneath his breath. “...I was just thinking that the frog might be lonely. Maybe he could use some friends.”

He wants to summon more of them right into Lucifer’s lap?  
How childish. _How perfect._  
Satan loves the idea already.

He sends Diavolo a teasing grin. “Oh, now who’s the naughty one?”

“Ah, you’re right. Forget I said anything.”

_No. This idea is beautiful. You aren’t allowed to take it back._

“Not a chance. Do you really want to fill up Satan’s room with frogs?

The prince seems to grow more at ease with Satan’s support. A mischievous smirk makes its way across his face.  
“Yes... I suppose I can’t help but worry about him. I’ve heard he hasn’t left his room in days. I think he could use a break.”

_A break, huh?_

Satan’s plan has been flawless so far, so Diavolo has absolutely no idea what he’s actually proposing.  
It’s Lucifer, after all, that is in Satan’s room. The real Satan is giggling in front of him, but there was no way for him to know that.  
Either way Satan loves it. The sheer idea of Lucifer being bombarded by frogs as he’s trying to do research is too hilarious to pass up.

“Let’s do it.”

The two of them beam at one another, grinning from ear to ear, as they enact their prank.  
They summon a total of twenty frogs into his room before Barbatos makes them get back to work.

~+~+

It’s taken practically all day, but they finally finish building it. Where there once was a chair rests a beautiful mahogany desk inlaid with leather.  
Hopefully Diavolo won’t be planning on replacing it anytime soon.  
His eyes light up with excitement.  
“We have a desk! Look Barbatos, we did it!”

Barbatos finally puts his newspaper down as he observes their work. “I can see that. You two did a fine job.”

Diavolo grins even wider and pulls Satan in for a hug. “I knew that we could do it!”  
He pulls away before Satan can hug him back properly, and Satan can feel a twinge of annoyance pass through him.  
Yet, that same annoyance easily fades when Diavolo places both of his hands on Satan’s shoulders, and gives him his brightest grin yet.  
“We should celebrate this momentous occasion!”

 _Ah yes, the momentous occasion of building a desk._ Still, it was a rather hard task to do, and it required way more work than Satan expected. A reward would be nice.

Barbatos seems to be in agreement. He sighs. “Yes, I suppose the two of you do deserve some sort of reward. I’ll go make us some hot chocolate.”

The butler leaves, and a certain amount of tension leaves with him. Satan didn’t even realize it was there.  
But he feels more at ease now, and less like he’s being scrutinized.  
He doesn’t have anything against Barbatos of course, but Diavolo’s butler is… unnerving. He always has been.

“Did he make you nervous?”

Satan frowns. “Somewhat. Even though his eyes were glued to the newspaper I could feel him watching our every move.”

Diavolo lets out a low chuckle. “Yes, he’s like that.”

He gently takes Satan's hand and squeezes it in reassurance.  
“Thank you for coming here. I couldn’t have done this without your assistance.”

“It was nothing.”

“Perhaps. But it means everything to me, as do you.”

Satan wonders if he’ll ever get used to it, the flirting, the compliments. From how often he finds himself blushing he probably never will.  
He was never the type of demon that people wanted to get close to. No matter what everyone held him at a distance. He was the avatar of wrath, and anyone who got too close would suffer the consequences.  
They were afraid, so they didn’t touch, they didn’t flirt.  
Yet Diavolo is able to do so with ease. And even though he is in Lucifer’s body right now, Satan can’t help but feel that it would change nothing.  
The prince fears no one.

Satan can still feel the flush in his cheeks, and he turns his head away. But Diavolo, for once, refuses to allow that. He lightly uses his hand to tilt Satan’s chin towards him.  
The grip is so light. It would be so easy for Satan to break away, to come up with some sort of excuse.  
So why doesn’t he?

Diavolo leans forward until his forehead is resting against Satan’s.  
Their noses brush up against one another, and Satan’s breath hitches.  
Diavolo’s eyes close, and he sighs. “Today was very long, and you coming here made it better. I’m glad you showed up.”

“I’m glad too.” The whisper is quiet, soft, but Diavolo’s eyes snap open when he hears it.  
Their lips are only inches away when Barbatos enters the room carrying a tray of hot chocolate.  
The two of them spring apart, and Satan fights to keep his heart under control.

The prince looks at the tray and frowns once he notices there are only two cups.  
“You didn’t make any for yourself?”

Barbatos waves them off as he hands them their reward. “Perhaps another time. I need to have a word with the manufacturer about the quality of their instructions.”

He says it all in a sickeningly sweet tone. Satan is already starting to feel bad for them.  
But then he remembers that a fifth of their instructions were written in Morse code.  
_Never mind. They deserve whatever Barbatos throws at them._

Diavolo seems to be in agreement.  
His attempt to placate him is half-hearted at best.  
“Ah, well try not to give them too hard of a time.”

“I will keep that in mind, my Lord. Once I am through with them they will be running at peak efficiency.”

Barbatos leaves the room, but Satan still feels a bit wound up. Maybe it’s the lack of proper sleep, or the fact that he’s been here since morning, but he can feel the day’s stress slowly start to eat away at him.  
It’s been fun, but it’s also been exhausting, and pranking Lucifer only provided temporary relief.  
Yes, what he needs more than anything, especially after today, is a nice long break.

The hot chocolate helps some of that stress melt away at least. It’s warm and sweet, but not overbearingly so. There’s a generous amount of whipped cream on top of his, but Diavolo clearly has more (along with a cascade of rainbow sprinkles).  
He must really be a fan of sweets.

He takes another sip of his hot chocolate when he hears Diavolo giggle.

“What is it?”

“Ah, I’m afraid you have a whipped cream mustache on your lip.”

A chuckle escapes Satan’s lips. “So do you.”

It’s a shame really. Lucifer must look incredibly stupid and undignified. He’s never wanted to see anything more. If only he could get a picture.

And then, like an angel, Diavolo takes out his phone and snaps one. He lets out a _‘hah!’_ before he sends it to Satan.  
Satan feels Lucifer’s phone vibrate, and a brilliant smile makes its way across his face.  
Oh yeah, his day has _absolutely_ been made. 

He takes out Lucifer’s phone and takes some pictures of Diavolo in return. Some come out clear, but most of them are blurry. Their entire chat consists of nothing but snapshots of one another. It becomes a game, to see which one of them could photograph the other one more. They run around, giggling and laughing, trying to make the other ones' pictures come out blurry. And the whipped cream is still on their faces, for some reason neither one of them bothered to wipe it off.

The hot chocolate was good, but it was easily brushed aside and forgotten.  
They had found a better reward.


	5. Chapter 5

In Satan’s personal opinion, of all of the clubs that they had at RAD, the Literature Club was by far the worst.  
It was one of the many facts of life; there was no sun in the Devildom, Beel would empty their fridge every day at 2 PM, and that club should have been cancelled over a millennia ago. Instead, Diavolo had allowed its existence, on the condition that each of its members follow a strict set of rules.  
_But really, it should be against the rules for anyone in the Literature Club to even breathe._

Yes, Satan hates them, and he can list a multitude of reasons right off the bat.  
The club is just as tiny as it was when it was founded. Over the years they have never gained any members, nor have they gained a new leader. They are stagnant, never changing and never evolving. 

They had no right to call themselves a Literature Club; not when all they did was write fanfiction about the students around them and then sell it for a profit. Not when they had the audacity to kick Satan out ten minutes after he joined, simply because he wanted to discuss one of his favorite books.

No one died that day, but blood was spilt. Satan tore his novel in half and threw its broken pieces at their leader. To this day, he remembers how satisfied he felt when he heard their jaw _break_.  
That was his first day at RAD. And due to that outburst, he was held back from attending for another 100 years.

But that was ages ago, and Satan has changed since then. He has better control now, and is able to be around others with ease, for the most part. He’s not in danger of murdering any of its members at least, despite the disgusting erotica he found in his desk.

And given that it’s about one of his brothers, he figures that it’s probably about time he paid them a visit again. For old times sake.

So that’s how Satan finds himself in that same club room over a thousand years later. Only this time, he’s not in his own body.  
It’s Lucifer’s angered expression that greets them, and Lucifer’s hand that slams the offending piece of literature on the club's front desk.

“Care to explain?”

Their secretary lazily looks up from their phone and glances at the paper.  
“Oh that’s a self insert fanfiction of the reader and—“ their gaze then travels upwards, and stops once it reaches his face. They let out a tiny squeak as they finish their sentence. “...Mammon.”

Satan sneers. “Really? Because I remember there being an explicit rule that reader inserts weren’t allowed.”

“I, uh…”

“And there’s another rule that states that you aren’t supposed to write any sexually explicit material about me or my brothers.”

“It must have slipped-“

A low growl leaves Satan’s lips. “I don’t care. Give me every single thing written by you and your fellow club members. **Now**.”

They heed his command, and scamper around the room. Eventually they return with quite a formidable stack, and Satan begins to sort through them all.

The club members appear to have written something about everyone, except for one person.

Satan frowns. “I know there’s more. Give it to me.”

One of the demons looks up at him in confusion. “What do you mean? That's literally everything.”

“You don’t have anything for Satan.”

He hears someone snort. “Why would we write about him?”

_Why wouldn’t they?_

“You wrote about everyone else, including Solomon.”

They all just giggle.  
Their leader chimes in, “That’s cause Solomon’s hot, and he has that mysterious bad boy thing going on. Satan’s boring.”

The demon's eyes widen once they realize who they’re talking to, and who they just insulted.  
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to diss your brother or anything, but you know how he is. Just ...don’t tell him that I told you that.”

_**Boring**_. He literally broke their jaw once with a book, and they called him _boring_.

It strikes a nerve, but Satan takes a deep breath. He can’t afford to lose himself here.  
After all, no one in this room has done anything to warrant their own death.  
_Yet._

So Satan does what he does best, and takes that anger and stores it away.

“ **Of course**. Your secret is safe with me. All of your work, on the other hand, **is not**.”

Satan crumples the paper in his hands, and adds it to the pile. And with the snap of his fingers the entire thing is set ablaze. The members let out a shriek. One even begins to sob.

_And with that, my job here is done._

He turns to leave when he notices the girl in the back blocking the cupboard. The club has been keeping him busy; trying to draw his attention away from her the entire time.  
As if there was something they didn’t want him to see.  
As if there was something they wanted to hide.

_Ah, they thought they could outsmart me._

Satan stalks towards her. “If that was all of your content, then what’s this?”

She cries out, “No don’t-“

But she, and all of her other club members, are too late.

Satan rips open the cupboard door, and an influx of fanfiction pours out. But when he skims over them all, he finds that they all have one thing in common.  
It’s all about Diavolo and Lucifer, together, as a couple.

~+~+

DiaLuci, as the pairing is called, is apparently pretty popular. The two of them must have been more bad at hiding it then they thought.  
In all honesty Satan had considered writing about them once before, as a prank, but he was never much of an author.

The literature club looks at him, and he frowns. It’s strange, outside of his plan this shouldn’t bother him. He should find it funny; this is the kinda stuff that would brighten his day.

So why does he feel even more mad?

Granted, it never takes much to make him mad, but there is always something there to trigger it. Something that annoys him.  
But why would he be annoyed about Diavolo being in, as one fanfic quotes it, hopeless puppy love with Lucifer?

He skims over the pages once more and crumples them in his hands.

_It should be me._  
The thought startles him, but it’s true. He’s better than Lucifer. He’s smarter and stronger. Lucifer doesn’t do anything. He just walks around with a stick up his ass and does paperwork.  
And Satan?  
Satan has to control himself every single day of his life.  
He doesn’t get the peaceful existence that Lucifer constantly chooses to brush aside. So why is Lucifer more popular, why do people not write about him instead?  
Lucifer is such a dick, so why...  
Why does everyone love him more?

Satan growls and rips the pages in half, and the other students whimper.  
“I never want to see you making literature like this again. **Do I make myself clear?** ”

They nod, and quickly scatter out of the club room.

_...Dialuci._  
Satan knows that it’s real, and yet…  
He picks up the tattered remains of the fanfic and burns it.

And for some strange reason, he finds that therapeutic.

~+~+

The rest of his day is rather uneventful. The final bell rings, and Satan makes his way back to the House of Lamentation.  
He doesn’t make it far before he’s stopped by a voice.  
“Ah Lucifer, can you wait up?”

Satan turns around and is greeted by silver hair and a shit-eating grin.  
It’s Solomon. _Great_.

The human starts talking right away.  
“I heard you burned down the literature club in a jealous rage.”

_Jealous?_

Over who? Lucifer? Over the fact that demons wrote about him and Diavolo falling in love and getting it on?  
...There’s nothing for him to be jealous over.

“I wasn’t jealous.”

But Solomon doesn’t seem convinced.  
“According to its club members, Lucifer was so upset that he destroyed all of their work. His fury at being caught loving Diavolo threatened to consume them all.  
But you and I both know better, don’t we?”

Their conversation has only just started, but Satan can already feel a headache beginning to form.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve heard that you’ve been spending a bunch of time at Diavolo’s side. He’s given you so much paperwork that the two of you are practically inseparable.”

There’s nothing unusual about that.  
“That’s just what Lucifer does. I’m only playing my part.” 

“And how does that make you feel?”

The question seems to echo across Satan’s mind, and truth be told he can’t come up with an answer.  
But why does it matter?  
What do feelings have to do with any of this?  
What is Solomon even _implying_?

The sorcerer raises his brow. “Are you honestly telling me that with the amount of time you’ve spent by his side, you don’t want him?”

_Want him?_  
Why would he ever want Diavolo?  
The sheer thought of it ties his stomach up in knots.  
_What a dumb idea._

Satan sneers. “You’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

Yes, the human had no clue what he was talking about. The very concept of Satan desiring anyone was laughable.  
And Diavolo?  
Wanting the prince was Lucifer’s thing, not his.

Solomon just shrugs. “Perhaps. Even though the literature club is known for its outrageous theories, I couldn’t help but test a few of my own.”

He sounds entirely too smug. It makes Satan’s skin crawl. So he picks up the pace. Anything to leave this conversation, to get the sorcerer to shut up before he decides to test any more of his outlandish theories.  
But before he can leave, Solomon has one last thing to say.

“They have a secret DiaLuci stash in the homec room. You might want to look into it.”

_Another_ stash? Just how popular were they?

Satan doesn’t even trust Solomon, not entirely. Nor does he want to see anymore of that… drivel.  
Yet, the curiosity nags at him. So, when Solomon leaves, Satan finds himself changing direction and heading towards the room in question.

And as it turns out, Solomon was right. Underneath one of the room’s loose floorboards hid even more DiaLuci fanworks.  
It appeared to be mostly fan art, but there was still a fic or two. Satan takes them out and begins sorting through them one by one when he sees a picture.

It’s artwork, but Lucifer is nowhere to be found. Instead it’s just Diavolo, in a dress from a sticker that he and Asmo had created ages ago.  
It’s ...nice.

The shading is phenomenal, as is their use of color. A signature is nowhere to be found; the artist probably neglected to include it for their own safety. But it’s a shame.  
They managed to perfectly capture Diavolo’s smile. 

Perhaps it would be best if he held onto it. Artwork like that deserves to be protected. It’s only to find the original artist of course. It has nothing to do with its subject matter.

And if he burns all of the other bits of fanwork, it wasn’t because he was jealous.

~+~+

When he joins Diavolo in his office later for tea, he isn’t surprised that the prince brings it up. No matter what happens, he seems to know everything that goes on in this school. Satan also might have _accidentally_ set the club room on fire, so it was bound to reach his ears sooner or later.

He doesn’t look upset at least.  
“I heard you went off on the Literature club today.”

That’s putting it mildly, but there’s also no use in denying it. “They deserved it.”

“I assume they broke the rules again?”

Satan nods. “They wrote explicit fanfiction about my brothers ...and about us.”

For a brief moment Diavolo pauses, and then he frowns. “Us? ...Ah, you mean DiaLuci. And that concerns you?”

Concern is a strong word, but it’s somewhat accurate. Surely stuff like that would be a detriment to the prince's reputation, and to Lucifer’s as well. Even though it was hidden away, the fact that it exists in the first place is troubling.

But Diavolo himself doesn’t seem all that bothered by it. He places a consoling hand on Satan’s shoulder, while the other one tucks a loose strand of hair behind Satan’s ear.  
“My dear, there is nothing to worry about. They’ve written things like that ever since the day we met.  
No one actually believes that it’s true; they just write it because it makes them happy. And as long as it’s not hurting anyone I allow it.”

His eyes narrow.  
“But if this pairing hurts you…”

No, it doesn’t hurt. It’s annoying, and it leaves a bad taste in Satan’s mouth, but it doesn’t hurt him on an emotional level.  
How could it? They don’t know Diavolo, not truly. Satan could tell that just from glancing over their writing.  
And they don’t know him either.

They think he's boring? Well, perhaps he is. Satan has spent centuries trying to forge some sort of personality for himself. And even then, he’s unsure about whether or not he’s happy with the result.

But Diavolo seems to enjoy his company. And he laughs at all of Satan’s jokes. It isn’t much, it’s an incredibly small thing, a very tiny thought. But Satan still finds himself clinging to the idea.  
_Diavolo doesn’t think I’m boring._

Yes, the literature club is just that, isn’t it? A club. Nothing they say or do actually matters.

“It’s fine. It’s all just fiction, right? They can’t possibly know how any of us feel.”

An incredibly soft grin makes its way across Diavolo’s face. “You’re right. I can assure you, they know nothing about my heart, or who it belongs to.”

There’s a pause, and for a split moment Diavolo frowns. His eyes look incredibly lonely, but he perks himself up before Satan can comment on it. “Now then, let’s have some tea!”

~+~+

The tea is just as nice as it was before, although this time they have no treats to go with it. But the desserts aren’t needed, Diavolo’s smile is enough. It makes him feel at ease, more so than any amount of sugar ever could.

Their conversation continues on into the night, and Satan can hear a storm begin to brew outside.  
Diavolo discarded his jacket midway through their chat, as well as his tie.  
His normal attire is fine, but Satan prefers him like this. He seems more at ease when he doesn’t have the weight of his coat, the weight of his position, dragging him down.  
It makes his laugh brighter.

They eventually finish their tea, and Diavolo gets up and walks towards his desk. He picks up a large stack of files and begins sorting through them all. A piece of paper slips out from one and falls on the floor.  
Diavolo bends down to pick it up, and Satan finds his eyes drawn to him in a way that’s not entirely platonic.

He tears his gaze away; his mind still reeling from the fact that he was literally checking Diavolo out a second ago.  
**No** , that wasn’t it. There had to have been another reason his eyes were drawn to Diavolo’s backside.  
He just hasn’t thought of it yet.

And, in the midst of all of that confusion, Solomon’s words echo across his mind.  
_Are you honestly telling me that with the amount of time you’ve spent by his side, you don’t want him?_

It’s true that he’s had more fun being with Diavolo these past few weeks then he’s ever had in his entire life. And it’s true that Diavolo has managed to make him feel safe and comfortable in a way no one else has.  
But _want_?

Satan is nothing but a ball of rage. An empty slate. He doesn’t _want_ anything. He’s incapable of it.  
But when Diavolo looks at him like _that_ , and smiles as if seeing him was the highlight of his day; Satan can feel it. A tiny pinprick of doubt in the back of his mind.

Staying here any longer would be dangerous.

Satan turns around to grab Lucifer’s coat, but Diavolo clears his throat before his hands can even brush over the fabric.  
“I actually have some reports I need you to look over, if you don’t mind.”

_So much for that idea._  
It’s not an issue, not really. But Solomon’s words, combined with this feeling, bother him. And now he can’t run away from it.  
But that’s no matter, whatever it is, it’s an emotion. And Satan can store that away just like he does with his anger.

So he stays, and flashes Diavolo a smile for good measure.  
“Of course not.”

The prince's fingers gloss over his own as he hands the files over. And Satan’s heart _doesn’t_ stutter, nor does his stomach flip.  
He feels _completely_ normal.  
The files are heavier than he expected. Each one is incredibly thick; it will take ages to properly read through them all.  
Nevertheless, Satan plants himself on the couch. The quicker he can get this done, the quicker he can go home and put this feeling, and this entire day, behind him.  
So he picks up the first file and begins to flip through it.

Surprisingly enough it appears to be someone’s thesis: ‘Cats, and how they can be infused with magic and trained to protect the Devildom.’

_Well, at least the topic is interesting._

But before Satan can begin reading, Diavolo lies down next to him on the couch, and places his head in Satan’s lap.  
“I’m not disturbing you, am I?”

A light flush makes its way across Satan’s face. He can feel the puff of Diavolo’s breath along his thighs.  
_Why are the material of these pants so damn thin?_

“Of course not.”

Diavolo merely hums his approval before fidgeting a bit more to make himself comfortable. His head, his mouth, is now centimeters away from Satan’s groin. Diavolo whispers a quiet thanks before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

Hot. Everything is way too hot. The weight of Diavolo’s head resting on him, the soft breaths that he can practically feel on his skin, the vulnerable look on Diavolo’s face as he snoozes away. The shear warmth of it all threatens to burn Satan from the inside out.  
He isn’t attracted to Diavolo at all, so why is it so hard to control himself? Why does he want to take Diavolo’s mouth and—

Thunder crackles outside, interrupting Satan’s train of thought.  
Diavolo shifts, the sound at least partially waking him. His head is now facing away from Satan, away from the… compromising position it was in earlier.

_Hmm. Maybe now I’ll be able to actually get some work done._

So Satan reads through each and every report, Diavolo’s presence no longer bothering him.  
Midway through the second report it becomes a comfort. By the fourth one he’s running his hands through Diavolo’s hair as if he were a cat. 

He’s so absorbed into what he’s reading that it takes a second for it all to click. His hand pauses as it runs through Diavolos hair.  
No, this is fine. He has to make it convincing, right? And couples do this. So Satan can do it as well, no problem.  
And it truly isn’t a problem. Diavolo’s hair is soft, and flows through his fingers like silk.  
So Satan’s hands resume their course.  
And even after all of his work is done, Satan finds himself unwilling to leave this spot. Surely a few extra minutes won’t hurt. So he stays, his hand continuing to pet Diavolo’s head. But a few extra minutes turns into a few hours, and before he knows it Diavolo is waking up.

Diavolo looks ...adorable to say the least. His eyes flutter open, and when they land on Satan’s face he gives him a sleepy smile.  
But the prince doesn’t get up.  
He closes his eyes once more, and nudges Satan’s hand with his head.  
_Like a cat._

Satan feels his heart thrum in response. The future ruler of the Devildom had no right to look this cute, to look this soft. Or to make him feel this relaxed.  
So he goes back to petting Diavolo’s head, and Diavolo starts to purr as soon as Satan’s hands tangle themselves in his hair.  
It’s funny. He should feel embarrassed or flustered. But the only thing Satan is thinking about right now is that he wishes that they could stay like this forever.

An alarm goes off on Diavolo’s phone, reminding him that they can’t.  
It snaps Satan out of that comforting daze, and he jumps up to his feet.  
Diavolo grumbles and falls on the floor. The look he flashes Satan is that of a petulant child.  
The alarm goes off several more times before he gets up to look at it, and sighs.

“I’m afraid I have an important meeting with the council in seven minutes. I have to leave.”

“And what about the files?”

“You already made revisions and wrote down your options, correct? You can leave them on my desk.”

Satan nods. Diavolo grabs his hand and briefly squeezes it before offering him a smile.  
“Until next time.”  
Satan squeezes his hand in return.  
“Until then.”

He departs from Diavolo’s office feeling lighter than normal. It has nothing to do with Diavolo of course.  
It’s the reports, those files that he had to read. They were actually incredibly interesting, and Satan is always happy to learn something new. 

But then again, Diavolo had the magical ability to make Satan feel special, like he was someone important. And his warmth, his comforting support, follows Satan around like a blanket, even when he’s gone.  
Perhaps it would be dumb to try and deny the effect that the prince has had on him.  
Yes, he’s not Mammon after all. And there is no harm in admitting it, in admitting this:  
_Diavolo makes him happy._


	6. Chapter 6

They've finished a long round of paperwork when Diavolo offers him a drink. Normally Satan wouldn’t accept. Normally he would just go back to his room and read a book. But lately nothing about Satan’s life has been normal.  
So that’s how he finds himself sitting across from Diavolo with a glass of wine in his hands.

In all honesty, Satan has never been a fan of wine. It’s far too bitter for his tastes, and he’s always been a bit of a lightweight. So he usually tries to stay away from alcohol in general.  
But Lucifer’s tolerance appears to be better than his own, and the vintage that Diavolo picked out is actually nice.

So all Satan feels is pleasantly relaxed, maybe a bit more open then normal. Still, no amount of alcohol could have prepared him for their next conversation.  
“I have a request.”

He usually does. So Satan thinks nothing of it when he asks Diavolo for clarification.  
“What is it?”

“I need you to do the horizontal tango with me.”

Satan chokes on his drink.  
_The **what?!?**_

The prince tilts his head, an innocent expression painting his face, “Did I say something wrong?”

...There’s no way. Obviously the prince wouldn’t want to do _that_ with him.  
A misunderstanding, that’s all it is. But Satan’s cheeks are still flaming red, and his voice cracks when he questions Diavolo further.  
“What _exactly_ do you mean by that?”

“You know, the dance!” 

“… the dance. You mean just a normal tango?” 

Diavolo chuckles. “Ah yes, my mistake.”  
He frowns, his expression becoming far more serious. 

“There’s a ball coming up, and I’ll be expected to dance with Miss Alonsa. She is an… energetic thing. A tango will be all but guaranteed.  
But I can’t afford to make a fool out of myself, so I’ll need to practice with someone. And as always, you are my first choice.” 

Ah, that makes a lot more sense.  
Dancing is not something that Satan has done fairly often, that would require people actually wanting to touch him. He’s danced with his brothers a bit, but never anything fancy, never anything meant for couples at least.  
But still, Satan knows the steps.  
Dancing is just one of the many things that he’s studied. And, despite its appearance, the tango is relatively simple.  
Teaching it to Diavolo should be a breeze. 

Satan grins. “I’d be honored. I’m ready to begin whenever you are.” 

“Perfect! Let’s start now, if you don’t mind!”  
The prince’s eagerness is clearly written on his face. It’s adorable, and rather contagious.

A soft chuckle escapes Satan’s lips.  
“Then let's begin.” 

~+~+ 

Diavolo escorts him to the ballroom. With the snap of his fingers music begins to play in the background. 

The atmosphere is beautiful, and Satan lets himself have a brief moment to admire it. He’s been in this room before, for some of Diavolo’s numerous parties, but it’s always been full of people.  
And without a bunch of demons crowding the room, the architecture shines. It frames the entire area perfectly. Yes, this whole room is a work of art, and Diavolo is the centerpiece. 

Satan can’t help but feel out of place. Compared to the extravagance, to all of this, he’s nothing. He’s far too _plain_ to be a part of this picture, to be by Diavolo’s side. That should be reserved for someone else. 

But there is no one else, and Diavolo’s gaze hasn’t left him the entire time he’s been here. The doubt is still there… but maybe it’s not up to him to decide. It isn’t his artwork afterall.  
And whether Diavolo knows it or not, he has chosen _him_. So Satan tosses those insecurities aside and begins their lesson.  
“I assume you know some of the steps already?” 

Diavolo nods. “Yes, but it all feels rather stiff and awkward.” 

It’s a start at least.  
“Okay then, show me what you know.” 

They get into position, and Satan has to smother the shiver that goes down his spine once Diavolos hand rests on his lower back.  
It was a mistake to not wear Lucifer’s entire outfit, to neglect the coat and vest. The button up shirt is a terrible barrier. He can feel Diavolo’s touch, his warmth, as if nothing was there. But given how flustered he feels, maybe some of that warmth is his own.  
Diavolo’s close now, closer than he’s been in awhile. And even then, the contact has never been this… long. 

His breath fans over Satan’s neck.  
“Is this okay?” 

Satan nods. “Just… give me a moment.” 

And surprisingly enough, Diavolo waits. 

Satan closes his eyes, and takes several deep breaths. He needs to compose himself. He needs to actually be able to think. So for a split moment, a split second, he simply allows himself to _feel_.  
And then, once the panic and initial embarrassment settle down, it feels nice. Yes, Diavolo’s touch, his embrace, is almost relaxing in a way. Satan could easily fall asleep like this.  
But right now, he has a prince to teach. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Show me your moves.” 

~+~+ 

It starts off rather awkwardly. Diavolo has his head bent down low, and he’s too busy paying attention to his feet instead of his partner. Still, the steps are right. But Diavolo’s definition of a small step is greatly different than his own. 

That’s what cause him to slam his foot on top of Satan’s. They falter for a bit, and a string of apologies leaves the prince’s lips. But surprisingly enough, Satan isn’t mad. The annoyance is there, but it’s drowned out by something else. 

_Amusement._

“It’s a good thing I’m here. You dance like you’re drunk.” 

Diavolo pouts. “I am drunk.” 

“Off of what? A single glass of wine?” 

Diavolo’s laughter echoes throughout the room.  
“And my feelings for you, naturally.” 

Satan snorts. “If you have enough time to joke, then you have enough time to pay attention to how you move.” 

“Who said I was joking?” 

“The laugh and shit-eating grin mostly.” 

“I suppose I’ve been caught.” 

“That you have. And drunkenness notwithstanding, I need you to focus on me if you want to make any progress.” 

Diavolo chuckles. “That shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll start over from the beginning, yes?” 

Satan nods, and they begin their dance anew. 

Diavolo is at least more confident in his steps. His gaze is directed towards Satan instead of the floor. But that also has its downsides. Their steps are mismatched, and Diavolo not watching what he’s doing has only made things worse. 

Satan’s feet are already beginning to feel rather bruised. He tries to adapt to Diavolo’s movements, but that’s practically impossible. Diavolo moves without a purpose, without rhyme or reason. And although he apologizes every time he messes up, he doesn’t actually try to change or alter anything.  
The prince believes himself to be infallible. And while that’s a good trait for leading their people, it’s a terrible trait for leading a dance. 

Diavolo missteps once again, and Satan barely moves his foot in time. But at least now he’s found the problem.  
“Your rhythm is off. Here, let me lead.” 

Diavolo nods his head in affirmation, and _submits_.  
Their hands move, and it takes little time for them to adjust. 

Satan’s hand is now resting against Diavolo’s lower back. He’s always known that the prince’s demonic form was rather… promiscuous, but it isn’t until now that it truly hits him. The jewelry, that cowl, is the only thing covering his chest, and his pants hang unbearably low. Yes, this all feels incredibly intimate, and Diavolo’s gaze certainly isn’t helping. 

But it’s not bad, and Satan has gotten used to this warmth by now. And although he feels flustered, that also isn’t technically new.  
He’s been flustered around Diavolo a lot lately.  
It’s almost become a pattern. That feeling rises up, and the prince manages to draw his attention away from it before it stresses him out. Everything feels so complicated, _he_ is complicated, but Diavolo simplifies it all with relative ease. 

So, despite the blush on his cheeks, Satan doesn’t falter. His free hand grasps Diavolo’s and he grins. Diavolo waggles his eyebrows at him in return, and Satan can’t stop the giggle that leaves his lips.  
And with that simple exchange, all of the tension in his body had melted away. 

“Now, pay attention to how I move.”  
Satan follows through with the motions, reciting each step out loud. The rhythm is smoother with him in the lead. And when he spirals Diavolo around, the prince follows through with it. It isn’t long before the both of them are in sync. 

Diavolo’s eyes meet his own, and Satan grins.  
“See, now you’re getting the hang of it.” 

“I have a wonderful teacher. Tell me, do you have any more tips?” 

Satan hums, pretending to give it a lot of thought. “Hmmm. Well, practice is important. You need to have the steps memorized so that way you can look your partner in the eye.” 

“And?” 

“Confidence is key. You need to be sure about every single move that you make. No one is perfect, but with the right attitude, you can trick everyone into thinking that you are.” 

Diavolo nods along, seemingly off in his own world. 

A mischievous smile makes its way across Satan’s face. “The most important part about dancing though, is to be ready for anything.” 

Satan then twirls Diavolo around, and dips him.  
He hears a gasp escape the prince’s lips. But despite the fact that Diavolo was taken completely by surprise, he doesn’t trip or stumble. He follows through with the action, and when Satan looks down at him, he’s pleased at what he finds. 

Diavolo looks completely and utterly flustered. His eyes are wide, and a blush stains his cheeks. He opens his mouth once or twice, but no words escape it. Satan lets out a low chuckle, and he can see Diavolo’s ears start to turn pink as well. 

_Ah, it looks like I’ve caught him off guard.  
**Perfect**._

The prince really is far too fun to tease.  
They stay like that for a moment or two, and Satan has no intention of hiding the smug look on his face.  
And once that seems to click in Diavolo’s mind, his expression changes. His hand moves from Satan’s shoulder and splays itself across Satan’s back. He tugs Satan closer and flashes him a devious grin.  
“I believe now it’s my turn.” 

So their position’s switch, and Diavolo takes the lead once more. And this time, he’s relatively perfect. The two of them flow across the ballroom, and Satan can’t help but feel a bit proud at Diavolo’s progress.  
He’s a very quick learner. 

Diavolo also seems to become happier the more his confidence grows. But then again, he’s always been a rather happy person. Either way, the smile he gives Satan is absolutely dazzling, and Satan finds himself drawn to it. For a brief moment, he forgets where they are at. The only thing that exists is the two of them, and the only music he hears is the occasional sound of their laughter.  
But their dance ends, and Diavolo twirls him around. He tugs Satan close to him, and Satan can almost feel the smugness radiate off of him. 

“So _teacher_ , how did I do?” 

“You’ve really improved. We could probably cut our lesson short.” 

“We could, or…” Diavolo’s voice drops an octave, and he practically purrs the rest of the sentence out, “What do you say we spice things up?” 

A challenge then?  
Satan’s heart thrums in anticipation.  
_Bring it on._

Satan nods his head, and then the tempo changes. The pace is faster, and they are practically cheek to cheek. But Satan can’t focus on that, he has to follow Diavolo’s lead.  
And Diavolo is leading him on an adventure. 

Their dance doesn’t even stay as one genre. They had forgone the rules a long time ago. The tango, the waltz, the salsa, they had gone through them all. And Satan had studied every single one of them. Diavolo pulled dozens of different dances out of his belt, but Satan never tripped up once. 

And eventually, they aren’t even doing a specific dance at all. It turns into an amalgamation, blending different styles and cultures together to create something new, something magnificent. 

Satan easily loses track of time. He doesn’t know how long their dance lasts, the music in the background switches from one song to another. And Diavolo leads him throughout it all. The prince’s skill has vastly improved, but he isn’t perfect. 

Still, it’s the imperfections that make life interesting.  
That’s how they wind up straddling one another at least. 

Diavolo spins him around and dips him, and their legs get tangled up somewhere along the way. It’s not enough to make either one of them trip, but the position that they wind up in is unchaste. 

The music comes to a stop, and neither one of them move. The only thing Satan can hear is the pounding of his own heart. He’s out of breath, and it’s not from dancing. 

Diavolo’s thigh is right between his legs. The golden ballroom, the lighting of the chandeliers; it frames Diavolo’s face in an ethereal glow.  
And that smile, that cocky grin, looks even more beautiful than normal. Maybe it’s because he’s never seen it this close. 

“How did I do?”  
Satan barely registers his question, he’s too busy trying to process the heat that pools from in between his legs. Diavolo is close, too close, and yet not close enough. As Diavolo waits for an answer he slightly shifts his thighs, and Satan gasps. 

_I want him._

The thought shocks Satan to his very core, but it’s true. He wants Diavolo in a way he’s never wanted anyone before.  
The idea is frightening. Satan isn’t _supposed_ to want anyone. As soon as his control slips they could get hurt.  
But Diavolo feels strong beneath him. His thigh, his muscles, his power; Satan can feel it all thrumming underneath Diavolo’s skin. The prince could easily overpower him with just the snap of his fingers.  
He is the one demon that Satan could never break.  
...So that makes him a safe choice, doesn’t it? 

Diavolo clears his throat and Satan is brought back to the present.  
Oh right, he needs to give him an answer.  
“You did great. Alonsa won’t know what hit her.” 

He pushes himself up and gives the prince an awkward pat on the shoulder for good measure.  
This feeling… Satan doesn’t know what to do with it.  
It courses through his veins, and even though Diavolo is no longer touching him it’s still there. Waiting. But for what? 

Either way it’s dangerous, and something he can’t entertain. He just has to focus on the plan, _his_ plan.  
Why does he keep forgetting about it? 

But before Satan can completely turn away, Diavolo grabs his hand.  
“You were perfect today. Thank you.”  
The sincerity, the softness, in Diavolo’s eyes threatens to overwhelm him.  
And they are still _so close_.  
It would be so easy to just lean in. 

_Surely one kiss wouldn’t hurt._

But Diavolo’s phone rings and he pulls away to answer it. _Another_ call. Satan is starting to get sick of them. 

Diavolo sighs. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this lesson short. There’s a dispute I have to settle with some of the lower demons.” 

“It can’t wait?”  
The question leaves Satan’s lips without his permission, but he refuses to take it back. In truth, he doesn’t want Diavolo to leave, although he can’t say exactly why. 

The prince frowns. “I’m afraid it can’t, although I wish it could. I cherish each and every moment we are together.” 

It’s strange. Diavolo has given him positive affirmation time and time again, but it still makes Satan feel warm and fuzzy inside.  
“Sweet talker.” 

“It’s always incredibly easy when I’m around someone as sweet as you. Perhaps you can give me another lesson tomorrow?” 

“Of course. I’ll give you as many lessons as you need.” 

An incredibly tender grin makes its way across Diavolo’s face.  
“I’ll look forward to it.” 

But Diavolo doesn’t leave, not yet.  
“Ah, once again my dear, thank you for showing up. I might say it a bit too often, but having you around has been immensely—“ 

His phone rings once more.  
“...I suppose I’ve tarried a bit too long.” 

A flash of irritation rushes through Satan’s body. How many times are they going to be interrupted? How many conversations are going to remain unfinished?  
But it’s okay, none of that matters. They will be meeting each other again soon enough.  
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Diavolo nods. “Until then.” 

There’s a pause. Diavolo sends him a worried look.  
“Do you need me to escort you back?” 

The offer is incredibly tempting, but Satan has to pass. He’s already taken up most of the prince’s day.  
“I think I’ll manage. Besides, aren’t you already running late?” 

Diavolo sighs. “Yes, you’re right. I suppose I just…”  
He shakes his head. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’ll take my leave.” 

What was he going to say? The curiosity burns inside of him. But dozens of other thoughts outshine it. And they all center around one specific person.  
“Diavolo?” 

The demon in question stops, and turns around to give Satan his undivided attention.  
“Yes?” 

_I want to spend more time with you.  
I want us to never be interrupted.  
I want to take your phone and smash it into a million pieces.  
I want to kiss you, but I also want even **more** than that.  
I want **you** and that absolutely terrifies me._

But Satan says none of those things.  
“Good luck.” 

Diavolo smiles, nods his head, and leaves. 

And once he leaves the room, Satan finally processes everything that he wanted to say; the very things that were too dangerous to ever put out in the open. 

_The plan, I’ve forgotten it again._  
And it’s only been five minutes. That… isn’t good. 

His focus has been faltering lately, but he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that something strange is going on inside of him. Something that should be impossible. It involves that want, that desire, but also something else. Something softer and warmer.  
Satan can’t put a name on it.  
But whatever it is, it isn’t a part of the plan. And the plan _is_ what’s most important, isn’t it? 

This is all wrong.  
His hatred towards Lucifer, he had almost forgotten about it completely. And that is why he’s doing this, right? That's who he is after all; Satan is defined by his wrath, by the amount of loathing he feels towards his ‘other half’.  
He can’t afford to be defined by anything else.  
...So why does that definition feel off? 

Diavolo. His mind goes back to him. The prince once told him to be himself, and Satan didn’t understand what he meant. To some extent, he still doesn’t.  
But maybe he’s starting to. Or maybe he’s just being dumb. 

Either way he can’t afford to think like this. He can’t afford to lose sight of his plan.  
So as he finally leaves the palace, he repeats it to himself over and over again. Maybe through repetition it will stick. Maybe it will drown out that warm feeling in his chest. 

Yes, he needs to stop daydreaming and stick with the program. But the further and further away he gets from the castle, the more Satan realizes something incredibly important.  
_This is all going to have to end one day._

It’s an unpleasant thought, but Satan knows it to be true.  
...So in that case, there’s no harm in enjoying Diavolo’s company while it lasts, is there?  
It’s the only company he’s ever had. His brothers have always been by his side of course, but even then they’ve never really hung out.  
They know to keep their distance.  
And once he’s back in his own body, Diavolo will join them. He will keep Satan an arm’s length away, just as he did before. 

Once this is all over, Satan will be completely alone. 

The thought doesn’t trouble him as much as it should. Satan has been alone for practically his entire life. But still, the memories he’s made with Diavolo have made him happy. Even now, as dread begins to seep through his bones; he feels warm, and a smile graces his face.  
He’s never had this many good memories to reflect on before. And a few more wouldn’t hurt, would it? 

So Satan picks up the pace. The sooner he gets home, the sooner he can fall asleep and wake up tomorrow. And he’s already come up with a few more tips to improve Diavolo’s dancing skills. 


	7. Chapter 7

The ball is arriving soon, and as a member of the student council, Satan and his brothers are expected to help plan it. Which means that they’ll be staying at Diavolo’s castle for the next couple of days.

Packing for it is strange. Satan’s backpack feels empty without any books in it, and the lack of cat food troubles him. He always tries to carry around as much of it on him as he can, but Lucifer’s pockets are embarrassingly tiny. Cats also seem to shy away from him in general now; perhaps they can sense how much of a dick Lucifer is. Either way Satan misses it. He misses his things. He misses being in his own body. Acting like Lucifer is easy, far easier than it was before. And sometimes, he can feel the line between the two of them blur.  
It’s horrifying. If it wasn’t for the time that he spent with Diavolo he probably would have gone insane.

So most of the time, instead of worrying about his identity, he worries about the strays. Has Lucifer been feeding them? He texts him reminders whenever he can, but their conversations are still short and stilted. Yes, Satan has never been able to talk to Lucifer for long; no matter what his anger usually takes hold.  
He’s already upset that Lucifer unblocked himself. The two of them were never supposed to communicate this often with one another. But it’s worth it, especially if it ensures that Mr. Cat and his family get fed.

Besides, having complete access to Lucifer’s room (and his phone) has its perks. Before he leaves he places a curse on Lucifer’s record player, and scribbles another crude drawing on top of that creepy statue.

He runs into his brothers in the main entrance hall, and isn't surprised when he sees what they’ve packed. Asmo has several large suitcases filled to the brim with clothing, Beel’s backpack reeks of food, and Levi appears to be taking his entire gaming setup with him. Mammon’s luggage is mostly empty, although the reason why is obvious. It’s amazing that Diavolo even lets Mammon enter the building, given how many times he’s attempted to steal from him.  
But the prince is unreasonably generous and kind; it’s impossible for him to hold a grudge. And there’s something about Mammon that makes him difficult to hate, despite how much of a scumbag he is.  
Satan’s gaze eventually reaches his own body, and a wave of fury washes over him.

Lucifer is the only other person who’s packed normally.

He loathes moments like this, when they have something in common. It’s another reminder of who he was, of who he always will be.  
It’s one of the many reasons why Satan hates being around him.

He tries so hard to be his own person, and yet...  
He can’t even be unique when packing for a trip.

But it’s to Diavolo’s castle, and even though he’ll be busy with work, Satan is looking forward to it. In some ways the palace has begun to remind him of the library. He gets the same comforting feeling there that he does when he’s surrounded by books.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t break into his room to pack any. Or why he didn’t try and take any of Lucifer’s tomes.

Either way he’s unable to hide his excited grin once they arrive. And if any of his brothers notice, they don’t bother to comment on it.

~+~+

The moment they enter the building, Diavolo greets them all with his usual smile.  
“I’m glad you could all make it!”

His voice then takes on a more serious tone.  
“Although a majority of the students at RAD won’t be attending this ball, it is still affiliated with our school. So your help in setting this up is essential.”

Barbatos enters the room, carrying a clipboard.  
“The tasks have already been divided up according to your strengths and weaknesses. Most of you will be finished by tomorrow evening.”

Diavolo nods.  
“We should actually be able to get a majority of this done fairly quickly. But I’m afraid I have to ask the three eldest: Lucifer, Mammon, and Levi, to spend an additional night here.”

“The rooms have already been divided up as well”  
Barbatos then proceeds to list off their room assignments. It appears that they will be doing two to a room. And when he announces Satan’s (Lucifer’s) roommate, no one is surprised.  
Diavolo and Lucifer have always roomed together after all.

So Satan follows Diavolo to their assigned quarters, the prince chatting away the entire time.

They enter the room, and Satan has to withhold his sigh of relief once he notices that there are two beds. The sheer idea of sleeping next to Diavolo makes him feel… anxious.  
The room is rather spacious, covered head to toe in fabric and silk. It’s a guest bedroom, but one Satan has never been in before.  
Usually the decor is always the same, but for some reason this room is different.  
Perhaps the prince was bored.  
But either way it’s nice. Each bed has a mountain of pillows on it, and at least four different blankets.

Diavolo turns towards him, his eyes practically begging for his approval. “Do you like it?”

What’s not to like? It’s decorated a bit too extravagantly for Satan’s taste, but there’s still something about it that just screams Diavolo. It makes the room endearing in a way. But still, perhaps the pillows are a bit much. Satan can barely see his bed underneath them all.

“Yes, although the pillows are rather unnecessary. We really don’t need this many.”

But it seems that Diavolo is on an entirely different page.  
“Of course we do! How else will we build the pillow fort?”

 _Ah, it figures that he would want to do something like this._ It was definitely silly and childish enough.

But Satan wasn’t opposed to the idea, and he’s become rather used to Diavolo’s eccentric requests. Truthfully, he would have felt disappointed if all of those pillows were only for show.

Still, Satan can’t help but ask.  
“A pillow fort?”

Diavolo nods.  
“I’ve always wanted to make one, but I’ve never had the opportunity. I’ve heard they’re supposed to be fun!”

In all honesty, Satan doesn’t know. He’s never been at a slumber party before, and the idea of sleepovers are completely foreign to him. There has been a few times that he’s hung out with Asmo in the past but… it’s not the same. And they never played any party games, or whatever it is that Diavolo is wanting to do.  
But he is familiar with the concept of a pillow fort. He’s read about them and seen them on TV. It shouldn’t be hard to recreate.  
And Diavolo manages to make everything enjoyable.

Satan can feel the excitement start to flow through him as he rolls up his sleeves. In his head, he already has the blueprint for their new fortress planned out.  
“Then let’s get to work.”

Building it is fun, if a bit more challenging than Satan anticipated. Pillows and blankets aren’t the most study of materials to work with, and their structure crumbles into pieces before them several times.  
But they eventually manage to piece together something resembling a fort. It’s not nearly as grandiose as Satan had planned, but he likes this one more.

They sit inside of it, and Diavolo flashes him an incredibly pleased grin.  
“We should come up with a name!”

Satan raises his brow.  
“Oh, and what are we going to call it?”

“I’ll let you pick.”

Satan’s heart sinks. He’s never been good with names, his mind is far too literal for it. That’s why he usually tries to leave it to others whenever he can. But Diavolo is asking this of him, and for some reason that spurs him on to actually try. So Satan summons up every bit of creativity that he can muster. And eventually he comes up with something, probably the best name he’s ever made.  
“...Fort McPillow.”

Diavolo bursts into laughter.

Satan’s face turns a bright shade of pink.  
“S-Shut up! If you don’t like it then—“

“No, I love it! It’s an adorable name, just like you.”

 _Adorable._  
Satan isn’t adorable, there’s nothing about him that’s cute. He is the incarnation of rage, a being that makes every demon tremble in fear.  
Monsters aren’t given compliments, they’re given insults, or they are ignored completely.

 _...Adorable._ Diavolo’s the only adorable demon in the room right now. He opens his mouth, but Satan covers it with his hands.

He sends Diavolo a look full of pure ire.  
“Oi, I’m not sweet, or cute, or any other word that you’re planning on using right now.”

“Try saying that without blushing cheeks then, and I might believe you.”

Ah, maybe there wasn’t as much rage swirling within him as he thought.

He can feel Diavolo’s smile against the palm of his head. The prince slightly tilts his head, and Satan’s hand’s come apart. But they stay in the exact same spot, which just so happens to be the location of Diavolo’s cheeks.  
He’s caressing Diavolo’s face now, yet for some reason he isn’t pulling away.

Diavolo hums.  
“Fort McPillow truly is a masterpiece. And I owe it all to you.”

“Calling it a masterpiece is a bit of a stretch. It still isn’t completely stable. The left side is weak.”

And just like that, a plan begins to form within Satan’s head. A plan to get revenge from all of the teasing that Diavolo did earlier.  
Yes, perhaps the prince just needs a reminder of who he’s actually dealing with.

Diavolo laughs, completely unaware of his impending demise.  
“Hah, it will be fine! It’s standing after all.”

Satan smirks.  
“Not for long. And it leaves you open to attack.”

“Attack from what? Barbatos?”

“No, from me.”

And then Satan takes a loose pillow and slams it into Diavolo’s jaw. Diavolo topples over, and their pillow fort falls with him.  
The blanket covers them both, and the two of them giggle as they shove each other around for a bit. It isn’t long before they become tangled up.

They have to shimmy around a tad, but they manage to loosen the blanket’s hold. Diavolo looms above him, his thighs grazing Satan’s legs. The prince waggles his eyebrows, and Satan snorts.  
He picks up a nearby pillow and shoves it into Diavolo’s face.  
A muffled sound of surprise escapes his lips, and Satan uses that as an opportunity to escape.

Their fort has been completely demolished. All that remains is a pile of pillows and a few discarded blankets.  
Diavolo laughter echoes across the room, and he picks up two pillows off of the floor.  
“I see you have chosen war!”

Satan laughs in return.  
“Peace was never an option.”

“Then we must fight! Fort McPillow will be avenged!”

~+~+

It doesn’t take long for things to descend into chaos, but Satan has come to expect that by now.  
It’s thrilling, the idea of the chase, of their back and forth as they dodge each other’s attacks.  
He can’t get enough of it.  
Is being childish always this fun? 

Diavolo tosses a pillow his way and Satan parries it. Another one shoots behind him, and he barely moves out of the way in time.  
So it was a decoy. _How clever._

It’s moments like this where he can’t help but admire Diavolo’s intellect. The prince truly was crafty, and every single one of his schemes manages to take Satan by surprise.  
But Diavolo isn’t the only cunning demon in the room.  
And Satan intends to _win_.

He grabs one of the nearby pillows, and starts closing the distance between them. And Diavolo stands, pillows in hand, carefully watching Satan’s every move.  
Once Satan finally gets close enough, he takes aim at Diavolo’s head, and Diavolo moves to block it.  
But it was a feint.

Instead, Satan uses his magic to hit Diavolo from the side. Or at least, that was the plan.  
He catches on far too quickly, and although his eyes widen in shock, Satan’s attack never connects.  
Instead, Diavolo deftly moves out of the way, and the pillow makes a gigantic hole in the wall behind him.

_Whoops._

The two of them look at the new entrance that they’ve created, and laugh. Diavolo does a hyena-like giggle, and it’s even cuter than Satan remembered.  
He wants to hear it again.  
So before he can even think about it, an incredibly terrible joke leaves his lips.  
“I did think it was getting a bit stuffy in here. Now we can air the room out.”

Diavolo lets out another peal of laughter.  
“Yes! This room looks a w **hole** lot better!”

It’s music to his ears really. Each undignified snort, each terrible joke. And the fact that Diavolo finds it funny as well…  
It’s all incredibly precious.

So Satan nods along, and throws on the fakest thoughtful expression he can.  
“It definitely brings the room together as a w **hole**.”

The prince looks absolutely delighted, and opens his mouth to probably make yet another bad pun, but he’s interrupted by a loud cough.

Barbatos is standing right in front of them, and he doesn’t look amused. The butler pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation.  
“ **Five minutes**. I leave you two alone for **five minutes** and we already have to replace an entire wall.”

A sheepish grin makes its way across Diavolo’s face.  
“...It was an accident?”

“ **I’ll show you an accident**.”

Barbatos snap of his fingers, an object appears in his hands. Satan’s eyes widen once he realizes what it is.  
_Is that a whip?_

It makes a loud crackling sound as Barbatos swings it in an arc, and Satan feels a jolt of pain rush through him.  
His wrist is throbbing.

“Oh, my _**apologies**_ , I merely wished to test my skill. _**Did I hit you?**_ ”

The aura that he’s putting off is unsettling. Satan isn’t afraid of much, but in a way Barbatos kind of terrifies him. There’s something about him that’s _off_.  
It makes Satan want to run.

Barbatos crackles that whip once more, and Diavolo and Satan spring into action.  
They move.  
And with a cold-blooded look in his eye, Barbatos begins to pounce.

The butler has somehow managed to take control of the entire room. He never focuses on one of them for too long. The constant switching makes him difficult to predict.  
Satan is already sporting several wounds. 

It’s a punishment that is familiar to him. Lucifer does this often after all. It’s nothing he can’t handle. And At least in this situation he isn’t tied down; he can run and hide as much as he wants. 

But hiding isn’t really an option, not when Diavolo is here. It’s strange, but Satan can’t just abandon him. Even though this punishment is for the both of them, even though Diavolo is partially to blame, Satan can’t help but want to protect him.

What an odd feeling.  
He’s only ever wanted to protect his brothers, and even then he never really cared if they got into trouble.  
So what makes Diavolo different?

His train of thought is interrupted by Barbatos. The butler swings his whip once more, and it grazes Diavolo’s stomach.

“Oh, I’m so sorry my Lord, but _**accidents happen**_. You know how it is.”

Barbatos must be absolutely livid. They’ve been at this for hours.

Satan ducks behind a couch, and sees one of the spare cushions that have fallen on the floor. An idea enters his head, an _awful_ idea.

It would only make Barbatos even more upset. But Diavolo’s been backed into a corner, and Satan knows firsthand how terrible that whip feels.  
The prince has already been hurt once, and Satan doesn’t want to see him get hurt again.  
So he picks the cushion up, and chunks it at Barbatos.  
It’s a direct hit.

An incredulous expression paints the butler's face, and a guffaw leaves Diavolo’s mouth.

For a moment or two everything pauses, and the only sound in the room is Diavolo’s laughter.  
And then Barbatos starts to move.  
He takes two steps towards Satan before Diavolo stops him.

“Sneak attack!”  
The prince picks up the discarded cushion from earlier and slams it into Barbatos’s side. A loud yelp leaves the butler’s lips as he falls to the floor. He lands with a hard thunk on top of the remains of their pillow fort, his eyes wide with shock.  
Satan and Diavolo are too busy snickering to notice Barbatos’s expression change, or how the butler discards his whip in favor of the two pillows at his side.  
They were left wide open. And as Barbatos rams a pillow into their jaw, they’re starting to regret teasing him. But only a little bit.

_Now, the real battle had begun._

~+~+

It’s two against one, and surprisingly enough Barbatos has been holding up incredibly well. He’s quick, quicker then either Diavolo or Satan.  
Neither one of them can seem to land a hit.

And no matter what they do, the butler is one step ahead. He knows their every attack, and counters it accordingly.  
But even then he’s also struggling.

Diavolo and Satan manage to find a rhythm early on. They work as a team, and cover each other's weak points. Alone they would have faltered, but together, there are no blind spots; and that comes in handy when Barbatos has the ability to almost teleport from place to place.  
But the most amazing thing is that they don’t give up. They coordinate one attack after another. And even though they all end in failure, their smile never fades.

Satan has always enjoyed a good challenge, and given the giddy expression on Diavolo’s face, he appears to enjoy them as well.  
But no war is meant to last forever, and Barbatos’s patience is not limitless.

Apparently Barbatos can move even faster. Before Satan can even blink a pillow is rammed into his chest, and another leg collides into his own. His balance is ruined, and he falls to the floor

The butler's foot slams into his thigh, preventing him from getting up.

The grin that Barbatos sports is absolutely sadistic.  
“Do you yield?”

Some battles are ones that you cannot win, and this battle is obviously one of them.  
“Yes.”

Diavolo chimes in, and pats Barabtos on the back.  
“Then I yield as well. You fought spectacularly Barbatos!”

And Barbatos’s entire demeanor seems to change; his  
expression softens, and his posture becomes far more rigid. This is the butler that Satan is familiar with.  
This is the Barbatos that doesn’t scare him half to death.  
“Thank you my lord. The two of you made excellent opponents, and an even better team.”

He frowns.  
“But for now, we have more pressing matters to attend to.”

_Oh right, the room._

Barbatos nods his head, answering both Diavolo and Satan’s thoughts.  
“Yes, the room.”

A sigh escapes his lips.  
“If I may speak frankly, the total amount of damage that you two have caused so far is ridiculous. I’ll have your previous room renovated, but the both of you will need to sleep somewhere else.”

Diavolo frowns, his brows furrowed in thought.  
“I believe we should have several guest rooms available.”

“Normally we would, but they are currently being used for the upcoming ball. There is only one room available my Lord, and that is yours.”

An unfamiliar expression appears on Diavolo’s face. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights, but it quickly warps into something more neutral.  
“Ah, I see.”

“I believe that I can entrust the two of you to at least keep the royal chambers entact?”

Diavolo seems hesitant, but he nods.  
“ ...You can.”

“Good. Now then, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make.”  
Barbatos swiftly pulls out his phone and leaves the area.

There’s a beat of silence, and an awkward air hangs in the room. Diavolo plasters on a smile and breaks it.

“Well then, shall I escort you to my chambers?”

He holds out his hand, and Satan takes it without much thought. The prince’s hands are warm, and Satan feels some of his anxiety melt away.  
Yes, Diavolo’s chambers are just another room in the palace. It will be no different then the guest bedroom that they were planning on sharing.  
There’s nothing for him to be afraid of.

“Of course. Lead the way.”

~+~+

Diavolo’s bedroom is definitely the nicest one he’s been in so far. Surprisingly enough, it isn’t incredibly extravagant. There’s no gold embedded in the ceiling, or foreign silks draped across the windows. The little bits and pieces of furniture that are there are nicely made, but that’s it. Satan has seen those exact pieces sold in various shops across the Devildom, anyone could obtain them. The biggest centerpiece of the room, besides the bed, is the fireplace, which seems to burn as soon as they enter. It’s not a room befitting of a prince, but it suits Diavolo rather well.  
It’s incredibly cozy and welcoming.

The both of them seem to focus on the bed at the same time. Diavolo lets out an awkward cough.  
“Ah, since this is my bedroom there is only one bed. If it bothers you I can—“

But Satan brushes his concerns aside.  
“No, this is fine.”

Yes, there is only one bed in the room. It’s rather big, and has multiple blankets and pillows placed on top of it, all in varying shades of red. There’s enough room to fit four people in it, so they shouldn’t have to touch or cuddle.  
Everything will be fine. Satan will be able to close his eyes and pretend that Diavolo isn’t even there.  
That thought seems to calm the butterflies that are swirling around in his stomach.

Satan goes to make himself comfortable on the bed and winces. He can feel a bruise begin to form on his thigh, from one Barbatos’s many attacks. The butler certainly wasn’t holding anything back.

Diavolo, of course, notices right away.  
“Are you in pain?”

 _Not particularly._ The injuries that he sustained from Barbatos are very minor. They were only playing around after all.  
…For the most part at least.  
“I’m fine.”

But Diavolo doesn’t seem convinced.  
“Can I see it?”

He has that look in his eye, one that Satan knows all too well. Diavolo is probably one of the most stubborn demons that he’s ever met.

He sighs.  
“I guess I cant stop you huh?”

“Nope! Your well-being is incredibly important to me. Now go and get changed.”

Satan quickly goes into the bathroom to change, and purposely avoids looking in any of the mirrors. All Lucifer seems to own for pajamas are robes, and it makes him feel… exposed. With just a tug on the sash, the entire thing could come undone.  
...Maybe he should just put his old clothes back on. You can sleep in slacks and a button up shirt, can’t you?  
Ah, but perhaps that would be too weird. Satan doesn’t know why he feels so self conscious. It’s not even his body, it shouldn’t matter.  
He has no reason to be blushing right now.

_It’s just Diavolo. And all he wants to do is look you over in order to make sure that you’re okay._

So Satan takes a deep breath, and tries to calm his racing heart. Fortunately enough it doesn’t take long. He just has to pass Diavolo’s inspection and then he can go to sleep. There’s nothing to worry about.

Satan steps out of the bathroom, and Diavolo is sporting an incredibly soft grin. And just like that, Satan doesn’t even know why he felt so anxious in the first place.

It’s only Diavolo after all.

The prince pats the spot next to him on the bed. Satan sits down, and Diavolo gets to work.  
His hands hover over Satan’s robes.  
“May I?”

Satan nods, and Diavolo pushes them aside. The sash remains tied, and his outfit isn’t loosened at all. Satan’s thigh is simply exposed.  
Diavolo’s fingers lightly gloss over it, and Satan has to hold back a wince.  
It’s tender; there’s definitely going to be a bruise if he doesn’t get it treated.

The prince’s focus is entirely on the wound in question.  
“Ah, it isn’t bad of course, but you're still rather red. May I heal you?”

It’s rather unnecessary, but Satan would like to avoid as much discomfort as he can. And although he could heal it himself, the idea of someone else doing it for him is rather nice.  
“Sure.”

Diavolo’s magic washes over him, and right away Satan is hit with a feeling of contentment. It reminds him of books, and of the feeling he receives when a cat is purring in his lap. He feels as good as new, perhaps even better.

He can’t help but notice that Diavolo is sporting a few marks as well. Barbatos must have gotten a few good hits in. None as bad as his own of course, but they still look rather red. And it’s only fair for Satan to return the favor, isn’t it?

Before he can give it anymore thought, Satan places his hand on Diavolo’s stomach. A bit of his magic, Lucifer’s magic, curls through his palm and into the prince's body. The injuries are completely gone now, and the prince's skin looks as pristine as ever.

Diavolo seems taken aback, but he quickly throws Satan a look full of pure adoration.  
“Thank you.”

They descend into a comfortable silence; but there is a question that nags at the back of Satan’s head, and he can’t leave it unanswered.  
“...Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Have you and Barbatos always been like that?”

Diavolo raises his brow.  
“Hmm? Like what?”

“Like friends. The two of you don’t act like a boss and his employee, or even a master and his servant. You’re incredibly casual with one another.”

The smile and the warmth from earlier fades away.  
“Ah, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. Barbatos and I aren’t really friends in the strictest sense. He was in a rough patch a long time ago, and I simply helped him get back up on his feet. He swore his loyalty to me and has stayed by my side ever since.”

He expects Diavolo to stop, but the prince continues. And there is something about him that seems… vulnerable right now. His voice is softer, and the words don’t flow as easily.

“I never really had much of a family. My mother died during childbirth, and my father didn’t exactly… enjoy seeing me around. I suppose Barbatos is the closest thing I have. So I want him to be true to himself and his ideals, even if that means that I get roughed up a bit.”

The last sentence is a whisper.  
“Before him, I had spent most of my life alone.”

Satan feels a pang of empathy run through him. Loneliness is a feeling he understands far too well. And it never would have occurred to him that anyone in this realm could understand how he felt, or that it would be Diavolo of all people.  
The prince was constantly surrounded by others, but astonishingly enough the same could be said for Satan too. Even though he’s the Avatar of Wrath, he has often found himself in social situations. Yes, he makes connections, plasterers on a smile, and goes wherever he pleases. But there’s always a certain… distance that he keeps from everyone, and they seemed to know that it’s dangerous to get too close.  
None of them liked the idea of Satan, but the general populace enjoyed the mask that he put on. And he can’t blame them for that, can he?  
Once you remove the mask, what’s left?  
Who even is he?

It’s a problem that’s unique to him. Satan has told himself this over and over again. No one else has had this experience; no one else has become chained by the very persona, the very personality, that they had created. He was not made to be understood, so he would never be able to truly understand others.  
Or so he thought.  
Because, as it turns out, there is one demon in this realm that has the ability to understand him completely

Diavolo displays a mask as well, doesn’t he? On the surface he appears to be incredibly dense, and nothing more than a fool. A prince that manages to be calm and reserved when the need calls for it, and a smile that never leaves his face. He is adored for those reasons, for his happy go lucky attitude and his capacity to lead.  
But there’s also more to him then that, far more. There’s another side to him, one that only Satan has seen. It’s the part of him that doesn’t have the weight of the Devildom on his shoulders, the part of him that is a complete and utter dork. Yet, it’s also Diavolo as he is now, a melancholy smile and a far off look in his eye.  
And Satan can’t help but be fascinated by it, by all of these different sides that Diavolo keeps hidden away.  
He wants to discover and cherish every last one of them.

They have both been alone for a very long time. But they haven’t been lonely in awhile, have they?  
They have each other, for as long as this ruse will last. And even then...

Satan places a hand on Diavolo’s shoulder.  
“You have me too. You’re not alone anymore.”

It’s strange, Satan shouldn’t be referring to himself. It should be Lucifer. Lucifer has remained by Diavolo’s side throughout everything, and will be by his side once more when this is all over. But that doesn't feel right, and Satan is unable to pin down why.  
What exactly is going to happen once this is all over?  
What will happen to the two of them?

...Does the end of the plan really mean that they will have to end this, whatever it is? Or could they still...

Diavolo’s voice interrupts his train of thought. It’s a quiet whisper, but Satan still hears it loud and clear.  
“Do you truly mean that?”

This prince's hand grazes Satan’s cheek.  
“Are you mine?”

But before Satan can even process the question Diavolo pulls away.  
“My apologies. Forget I asked. I must be more tired than I thought.”

He lets out a light chuckle.  
“But thank you. I am glad to have you by my side.  
In fact, I have a gift for you, to show my appreciation. Come with me.”

He holds out his hand, and Satan takes it without hesitation. Diavolo leads him out of the room, and down several more corridors. They eventually stop in front of a rather ornate looking door.

Diavolo’s hand moves to open it, but instead he turns away, and his eyes light up in excitement.  
“Close your eyes.”

Satan’s mouth quirks in amusement. It’s just a room, and yet the prince is determined to make it a surprise.  
Whatever it is can’t be that grand. But still, he goes along with Diavolo’s request.  
Somewhat.

“No peeking.” 

Diavolo turns towards the door, and Satan lets one of his eyes slip open.  
He closes it as soon as Diavolo’s gaze flickers towards him, and opens it once more when he turns away.  
But instead of opening the door, Diavolo pulls the dumbest face imaginable, and Satan can’t stop the laughter that leaves his lips.

_Ah, I’ve been caught._

Diavolo throws him a pout.  
“I see you’ve cheated.”

“I had something in my eye.”

But Diavolo isn’t buying it.  
“And yet I’ve been looking at your eyes the entire time, and I never saw anything.”

 _The entire time, hmmm? Even when his back was turned?_  
...That’s probably true actually. His magic flows around the castle. And at times, when Satan isn’t paying attention, he can feel something tickle his arm or brush up against his leg. The palace was known for being drafty, but maybe it wasn’t the wind.  
Maybe it was Diavolo, teasing him like always.  
Either way, Satan can’t stop himself from teasing Diavolo in return.

“Perhaps you should consider ordering yourself some glasses.”

Diavolo snickers, and then snaps his fingers. A pair of glasses appear on his face. He makes a show of adjusting them.

“No, I’m afraid I still don’t see anything. Perhaps if I got a closer look…”

He steps right into Satan’s personal space, and bends down so that their faces are at eye level with one another.  
He’s too close. Satan can feel his breath fan over him, and instead of focusing on how Diavolo looks in glasses, he’s too busy focusing on his lips.  
This is dangerous. If Diavolo gets any closer, if he stays any longer, then Satan might not be able to hold himself back.

So he takes several steps back and hits the abort button instead.  
“Fine, I might have exaggerated a bit. I’ll be good this time.”

Diavolo steps back as well, and his glasses vanish.  
“I’ll hold you to that promise.”

Satan immediately closes his eyes, and this time he keeps them closed.  
After a moment or two he hears the door click open, and feels Diavolo’s hand splay itself across his back as he’s guided into the room.

They stop, and Diavolo closes the door and turns on the lights. Satan can hear him opening the curtains.  
And, once everything has been deemed perfect, he gives Satan permission to open his eyes.

The first thing that he notices are the books. The walls are lined with shelves, and every single one of them are filled to the brim with various forms of literature. There are several comfy looking chairs tucked away in the corner, but only one of them looks like it’s received any use. The room itself is small, but that only makes everything feel more intimate.

Satan is too busy trying to decide what to read first that he almost forgets that Diavolo is in the room with him.

The prince looks anxious, as if he’s showing Satan something incredibly important to him, something personal.  
“I don’t believe you’ve ever been to this part of the palace before. This is my own private library.”

Satan doesn’t say anything, and Diavolo continues.  
“It might not be much but—“

“I love it.”

All of the worry, the anxiety, vanishes from the prince's face. Instead, there is only a bright and happy grin.  
“I am glad it pleases you. You are always welcome to come here anytime you’d like, even when I’m not around.”

The offer is tempting, perhaps the most tempting one Diavolo has ever given him. He hasn’t even picked up any books yet, and he already prefers this over RAD’s library.

His feelings must be incredibly apparent, because Diavolo’s smile grows wider. The prince gives his arm a gentle squeeze.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some paperwork to attend to. I’ll come back once I’ve finished!”

Diavolo’s hand moves towards his face, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind Satan’s ear.  
“Until then, feel free to make yourself at home.”

Satan nods, in many ways he already has, but Diavolo doesn’t need to know that.  
There’s an awkward pause, as if neither one of them quite knows how to say goodbye.  
A hug would be normal, right? And it’s not like they haven’t hugged before. So why are they hesitating?  
What’s different?  
In the end, Diavolo seems to settle for patting him on the back, and Satan gives him an awkward wave as he leaves.

Well, now it’s time for him to ‘make himself at home.’  
But really, there’s no need to tell him twice. Any place within this castle already feels like home.  
And this room is definitely one of his favorites.

Satan proceeds to race over to one of the shelves, and he’s immediately blown away. The prince's collection is amazing. It’s full of tomes and books that Satan has only ever heard about, and now he gets to hold them in his hands. It feels like a dream. But Satan is able to flip through the pages and read every word, and the comforting smell of books wafts around the entire room.  
It’s real, and Satan never wants to leave.

Time has no meaning. Satan goes through each and every book, and savors each word. He’s missed this. Not necessarily reading, but the library in general. Yes, Diavolo’s personal library far outshines the one they have at RAD. Although, now that Satan thinks about it, that’s probably because of Diavolo himself. His aura, his presence, blankets the entire room; even though he’s not here. And because of it Satan has never felt more comfortable, more at peace.  
He reads through as many books as he can, but it isn’t long before he dozes off.

Satan wakes up in Diavolo’s bed, with the demon in question snoring away across from him.

_How long was I asleep?_

A yawn escapes Satan’s lips. He’s still incredibly tired, and the prince’s bed is cozy, more than his own or Lucifer’s. So Satan closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep. And if he scooches closer to Diavolo, that’s no one's business but his own.

~+~+

The next day goes by relatively smoothly. Satan and his brothers are able to perform their tasks with ease. And just like Diavolo said, most of them are done before the night ends.

With the exception of Levi and Mammon, the others leave one by one, until the only one remaining is Lucifer.  
He turns to Satan, and tilts his head towards one of the nearby rooms. Apparently he wants to talk things out first. How unfortunate.  
Normally Satan would ignore him completely, but considering the circumstances…  
He doesn’t really have a choice.

So Satan follows Lucifer into the aforementioned room, not even bothering to hide his annoyed expression.  
_Hopefully Lucifer can make this quick._

Lucifer, of course, gets down to business right away.  
“I’m getting close, I thought I should tell you.”

There’s no need to specify what he’s getting close to. Although, Satan doesn’t understand the point of Lucifer updating him all the time. If he isn’t allowed to help, and if Lucifer doesn’t have the cure, then what’s the point of even talking to him in the first place?

Still, this ruse that Satan created is going on longer than he anticipated. Surely the curse couldn’t have been that complex. A part of him almost wants to accuse Lucifer of taking too long on purpose. But if there’s one thing Satan knows, it’s that Lucifer hates this just as much as he does.  
Something must be distracting him.

Nevertheless, Satan lets out an annoyed growl.  
“It’s about time. Shouldn’t the great and powerful Lucifer have solved it all by now?”

But Lucifer doesn’t take the bait.  
“Satan.”

“Huh?”

Lucifer pauses, and for a moment he looks incredibly concerned, but that quickly vanishes.  
“...It’s nothing. Remember what I said about Lord Diavolo. If he ever found out about our situation—“

But Satan isn’t the least bit worried.  
“What? He’d laugh about it and post it on Devilgram?”

“I’m serious Satan. He’s more manipulative and cunning than you’d think—“

 _Manipulative._ Something about that word causes Satan to snap.  
“You know, for someone who’s in love with him, you sure don’t think all that highly of him.”

Lucifer furrows his brows.  
“Love? I don’t—“

The doorknob begins to rattle as it turns. Satan can hear Barbatos muttering on the other side.

Lucifer forgot to lock the door.

But before Satan can even finish their argument, Lucifer waves him off.  
“We will pick up this discussion later.”

And with those final words, Lucifer hastily makes his escape. He’s gone through the window before Barbatos even enters the room.

The door opens, and the butler turns to Satan and quirks his brow.  
“Are you okay?”

No. The fact that Lucifer of all people would speak ill about Diavolo… something about that doesn’t sit right with him. His anger begins to fester.

_How dare he._

How dare he assume that something malicious was going on. How dare he assume that Diavolo is using him. How dare he assume that Satan isn’t the one that he should fear, that he isn’t the one in the wrong.

_Lucifer should be warning Diavolo about me, not the other way around._

But Satan doesn’t let a frown grace his lips. Instead he plasters on a fake smile, and responds,  
“I’m fine. I think I’ll head back to my room.”

~+~+

Diavolo is taking a shower when he arrives, and Satan can’t help but think that it’s for the best.  
He isn’t exactly in the mood to deal with people right now.  
Lucifer’s words continue to swirl around in his head.

 _Manipulative._ The fact that Lucifer even had the audacity to insinuate—

It’s true that they are demons. Manipulation is like a second nature to them; they wouldn’t be able to make deals with humans otherwise, and that has blended into their culture as a whole. It’s simply just how they are. Still, some are more manipulative than others. Satan can’t remember the last time he went to the human world, or the last time he tried to tempt anyone into doing anything.  
And Diavolo…

Everything they have done together has been harmless. It’s all hugs and laughter, and some nameless warm feeling that Satan chooses not to look into.  
But none of that even matters. There’s absolutely no way that Diavolo's found out. If he knew the truth, then he wouldn’t be spending so much time by Satan’s side. He would run over to Lucifer, or one of the many other demons that adore him.

Satan has never been anyone’s first choice after all.

But still, Lucifer’s words anger him. They make Diavolo out to be something he’s not. The prince isn’t cruel; there isn’t a single ill-intentioned bone in his body. And no matter what happens, the moments that they’ve shared with one another have been real. What they have, the connection that they’ve made, is genuine.

And Lucifer has no right to look down upon it. He, like always, is just being a paranoid bastard. So Satan takes his warning with a grain of salt and makes himself comfortable in Diavolo’s bed.

It’s an incredibly easy thing to do. 

The prince’s scent envelopes him almost instantly, and it’s just as relaxing as he remembers. It also appears to be even stronger here, probably because it’s where Diavolo spends most of his nights. But Satan can’t get enough of it.  
In fact, a small part of him almost missed it. Another part of him wants to somehow bottle this scent up and take it with him wherever he goes.  
...He must be more tired than he thought.

The sound of the shower is also soothing, and if Satan is completely quiet he can hear Diavolo humming in the background.  
Satan focuses on that, on the sound of Diavolo’s voice, and tries to determine the song that seems to be stuck in the prince’s head.  
He doesn’t get far. There are too many factors working against him, and it all quickly lulls Satan to sleep.

So he doesn’t see Diavolo’s face when the prince finally exits the bathroom, and doesn’t see how he bends down, his lips hovering above his own. There’s a moment or two, as if Diavolo’s contemplating something, but he pulls away and lays on the other side of the bed. If Satan was awake he probably would have teased him about it, or maybe he would have blushed. But instead he's getting some well deserved rest.

The bed really is too big. It means that they don’t touch or cuddle one another throughout the entire night. But given how warm the castle is, they really don’t have too. Unless, of course, something goes terribly wrong.

~+~+

Their last day at the palace eventually comes to an end. It’s quieter without all of his brothers there, but Levi and Mammon make up for it.  
They are both incredibly loud. Their voices, their complaints, echo throughout the castle.  
And they never seem to runout of any.

Satan can already feel a headache starting to form.

But at least their tasks have finally been completed.  
After tonight he will be able to head back to the house of lamentation. It’s strange, but it hasn’t felt like home in awhile. Maybe it’s because he’s been staying in Lucifer’s bed, maybe it’s because of the lack of sleep, but a part of Satan doesn’t want to go back. A part of him just wants to stay here until this all blows over, until he’s back in his own body.  
Diavolo’s room, his bed, is far more comfortable than anything Lucifer could ever provide.

And he’s gotten more sleep in these past two days than he’s had in months. It shouldn’t be too hard to work something out, to come up with some sort of excuse to return.  
Besides, it’s not like Diavolo would mind. No matter what, the prince is always happy to see him.

So, once everything has been wrapped up, Satan heads back to their room. And for some reason he’s starting to shiver.  
_How strange._ The castle appears to be getting colder.

His theory is confirmed five minutes later, when he’s piled underneath a mountain of covers and sipping a cup of hot chocolate.  
Why was it so cold?  
And how did it all happen so quickly?

Diavolo finally gets off the phone. And given the frown and his solemn expression, the news can’t be good  
“Ah, I’m so sorry my dear, but I just finished talking with Barbatos. It appears that the central heating valve is broken. It will be fixed by morning, but it seems we will have to do without for tonight.”

 _Great._  
Satan finds himself grumbling in annoyance. He was looking forward to getting some sleep tonight, and yet he can’t even get comfortable. Not when he feels like he’s going to turn into a popsicle.  
The fireplace is barely doing anything. It’s presence seems to mock him. And he finishes his warm beverage far too quickly. All that’s left is the bitter cold.

Diavolo doesn’t appear to be faring any better. He’s put on a good show, but his face is stuck in a permanent pout. He mumbles several spells under his breath, but the chill doesn’t go away.

How odd. Is the central heating valve really the only problem?

Eventually, they give up on warming themselves, and decide to get some rest.  
But that’s easier said than done.

Satan can’t help but toss and turn. His one measly little blanket isn’t doing much to combat the cold. And even though Diavolo is on the other side of the bed, he can feel Satan shift and fumble around.

The prince grumbles, his voice comes out as a deep rasp.  
“Stop moving. Go to sleep.”

Satan snarls.  
“Easy for you to say. It’s absolutely freezing and you’ve hogged all the covers!”

“C’mere.”

Diavolo shimmies on over to the center of the bed, and drags Satan into the blanket cocoon that he’s made. Satan’s back rests against his chest, and the prince's arms are draped around him as if he’s a teddy bear.

But Satan isn’t complaining. The cold is finally gone, and in its place is utter warmth. A contented sigh escapes his lips. For a horrifying moment he had almost forgotten what it felt like. And if he thought that sleeping in Diavolo’s bed was nice, sleeping in his arms is even better.  
He’s never felt this safe and secure.  
Satan lets out a yawn before he snuggles himself in closer, and he can hear Diavolo let out a light chuckle.

It isn’t long before both of them are out like a light.

~+~+

Satan wakes up the next morning feeling incredibly rested. Whatever was going on with the temperature last night also appears to be fixed. And Diavolo is already awake; he had somehow managed to leave the bed without disturbing Satan at all.  
But even though things are back to normal, Satan still feels cold.  
He misses Diavolo’s body pressing up against him.  
A part of him is starting to crave it.

The prince is stretching out by the fireplace, tilting and rotating his neck in order to work out the kinks. And Satan finds himself admiring the view.  
The flames of the fireplace dance off his skin, and Diavolo looks so incredibly warm, so incredibly inviting.  
The robe that he’s wearing slips off his shoulders, and Satan can’t help but be drawn in.

He wants to mark him, to smother his shoulder and neck with kisses and bites. He’s heard Diavolo make many sounds before, but what would he sound like in the throes of passion?  
Satan doesn’t know, but now he wants to find out.

So why doesn’t he? What’s stopping him?  
His eyes follow the line of Diavolo’s throat.  
_...Nothing._ There’s nothing here to stop him from taking what he wants.

And with that new goal in mind, Satan leaves the bed as quietly as he can, discarding his robe on the floor. He sneaks his way behind Diavolo and pulls him in for an embrace. The prince startles, and then stiffens once he registers Satan’s state of undress.

He lets out an embarrassed cough. “Ah, I didn’t know you were awake. Good morning.”

Satan hums, mumbling his response into Diavolo’s back. “It _is_ morning, but I wouldn’t say it’s good yet.”

He pulls away slightly, and his fingers gloss Diavolo’s shoulders as he moves to stand in front of him.  
“I know how we could change that. In fact, I _want_ to.”

The rest of the sentence is purred into Diavolo’s ear.  
“Come to bed with me.”

Diavolo’s Adam's apple bobs, and his ears turn an endearing shade of pink. He manages to sputter out a response.  
“A nap does sound good, but I’m really not all that tired—“

Satan chuckles, and rests one of his hands on Diavolo’s chest. The prince's heart is racing.  
“Not to sleep. I was thinking we could do… other things.”

Diavolo’s breath hitches. “... _Other_ things?”

“I do have some ideas, and I want to share them with you. It might take all morning though, perhaps all day. But if you’re not interested—“

Before Satan can even pretend to turn away, Diavolo grabs his arm.  
His gaze shifts over Satan’s entire body, as if he’s unsure of what to focus on. It eventually stops at his face.  
Their eyes meet, and Satan can’t help but notice how beautiful Diavolo’s eyes are. They remind him of a cat, and of the human world’s sun. They burn with desire, but there’s also a hint of something else in there.  
Hesitation.

 _How cute._ Diavolo appears to be cautious about _something_ , and Satan has no idea what it is. Perhaps he and Lucifer had never gotten this far. But Satan finds that hard to believe.

After all, how could you be by Diavolo’s side and not want him?

A mischievous grin makes its way across Satan’s face, and he lightly blows into the prince’s ear. He knows exactly what to do to make all of that hesitation melt away. After all, Diavolo’s blushing cheeks and rapidly beating heart make him incredibly easy to read.

_He wants this too._

That revelation makes that fire inside of Satan burn even hotter. He’s never been with anyone before, but the excitement, the possibility of it all, fuels his every move. It makes him far more confident then he has any right to be. All he has are ideas, he doesn’t actually have any experience in acting any of them out.  
But practice makes perfect; and if the way Diavolo’s looking at him is any indication, he’ll be able to get _plenty_ of practice in.

So Satan goes in for the kill. He traces Diavolo’s biceps with his fingers and coos.  
“Your heart is racing Dia. Tell me, what’s going on in that head of yours?

And just as Satan thought, the nickname does it. Diavolo lets out a gasp and his heart skips a beat. His face is completely and utterly red, and his eyes are molten gold. They burn even greater than the sun. But they are no match for the warmth, the desire, that burns through Satan’s veins. 

He leans in, and Diavolo doesn’t pull away. The prince's arm snakes around Satan’s waist. 

Their lips are only centimeters apart when Diavolo’s phone rings.  
And, almost in tandem, there is one central thought that rings in Satan’s head;  
_No. I will not be interrupted this time._

Satan snatches the phone before Diavolo can even reach for it. With the press of a button it is powered off, and he tosses it aside.

 _Finally._

There was nothing left to distract him, nothing left to ruin this moment. He was going to have Diavolo writhing underneath him, completely at his mercy. And the young prince could beg as much as he wanted, but he was going to have to prove himself worthy before  
Satan would let his mouth anywhere near—

A loud voice echoes through the hallways, It’s owner unfortunately unmistakable.  
_Ignore it._ Satan pleads to himself. _Ignore it. Ignore it._  
But the moment has already been ruined, and whatever trance Diavolo was in before is broken. The prince pauses, brows furrowed. “That sounded like…”

There’s a crash, and the sound of something shattering. That same voice from before pipes up again.  
“I don’t care! I ain’t givin’ ya squat!”. 

_**Mammon.**_

~+~+

Satan puts on his discarded robe and stalks down the hallway towards his scummy excuse of an older brother. Diavolo is trailing behind him, and although Satan can’t see his face, he hopes that the frustration is mutual.  
He’s never wanted to kill anyone more in his entire life.

“—ain’t my problem, why should I care?”

“—Oi, if anyone’s the dumbass it’s you!”

The closer they get, the more they can hear another voice ring out among Mammon’s complaints. 

“—you scum! You haven’t even paid me back for what you did to Ruri-Chan!”

“—limited edition, and you sold it!”

Levi. Of course it’s Levi. Who else would Mammon get in an argument with?

They finally arrive in front of his bickering brothers. And if looks could kill, then the both of them would be dead. But they don’t appear to have noticed either Diavolo or Satan, they’re too focused on their fight.

Levi’s shouting is even louder up close.  
“That was over a century ago, and it was your birthday!”

Mammon’s voice is absolutely grating. Satan loathes the very fact that he has to hear it right now.  
“I don’t care, ya owe me money!”

“It was **soda** from the vending machine you scum! You owe me like a billion soda’s!”

Their argument continues, but Satan starts to tune most of it out. His gaze shifts towards Diavolo.  
The prince had apparently picked up his phone before they left the room.  
He looks at his messages and sighs.  
“I’m afraid that Barbatos and I are needed at RAD.”

_Of course they are. **Who would’ve guessed.**_

Diavolo gaze switches over to Mammon and Levi, who have yet to stop their squabbling.  
“I think I’ll leave you to deal with this.”

He gives Satan an awkward pat on the shoulder before he leaves, but Satan barely registers it.

He’s _mad._  
He can hardly remember the last time he’s been this frustrated, this wound up. There’s a storm going on inside of him, and it’s all Mammon’s fault.

He was right _there_. Diavolo was in his grasp and he was compliant and _submissive_. There were literally only seconds away from—

Levi lets out another shrieking complaint. Satan can feel a migraine starting to form. His voice brings their argument to a halt.

“Levi.”

“Yeah?”

“ **Leave.** ”

“Roger that!”  
He quickly gives Satan a salute and leaves the building.

Mammon, however, is not so lucky.  
“Oi, why does he get to leave when I—“

Satan really hates the sound of his voice right now.  
“Mammon, _shut up._ ”

“But I didn’t do nothin' wrong! It ain’t my fault that Diavolo just leaves his stuff laying around! And I’m late on my payments so I need Levi to—“ 

“I thought I told you to **shut up.** ”

Yes, it’s all Mammon’s fault. If he wasn’t here, then Satan would be doing something _far_ more pleasant right now.  
The anger, the annoyance within him, grows.

_**How dare he.**_

Satan begins his lecture.  
“You should know better than to run around in Diavolo’s halls in the first place. This is a palace, not RAD’s common room. That vase you shattered was priceless, one of a kind, and now you’ve ruined it like how you’ve ruined my entire morning.”

“Look I—“

“ **I’m not finished.** You then had the audacity to pick a fight with Levi, when he is completely and utterly in the right. You owe _him_ money. Why the fuck should he pay you back for a 200 Grimm soda from the vending machine? You owe him 500 grand!”

Mammon snaps, “ _Geez_ **Lucifer** , would ya **lay off!** ”

There’s a pause, a beat, and a look of horror makes its way across Mammon’s face as he realizes what just happened; what he just said.

Satan growls, “ **I’m not Lucifer.** ”

“I _know_!! It’s just that with that whole lecture and everything you sounded _exactly_ like him, and I just kinda forgot!”

“Whatever. **Get out.** ”

Mammon scrambles away, but Satan’s anger does not leave him. It stays there, bubbling underneath.

_I’m not Lucifer. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not._

But he finds that hard to believe. It’s Lucifer’s reflection that stares at him when he looks in the mirror. It’s Lucifer’s form, Lucifer’s wings, that get caught on a candelabra as he knocks the mirror over.  
It’s Lucifer’s leg that snaps the table in half, and it’s Lucifer’s arm that makes a hole in the wall.  
_It’s all Lucifer; he **is** Lucifer._  
It makes him want to scream.

There’s no noise, no sound. Satan doesn’t notice the glass shards on the floor. He doesn’t hear the cracks and bangs of the furniture around him breaking. He doesn’t feel his fists, Lucifer’s fists, bleed from the amount of times he’s thrown them at the wall.

The chandelier above him falls and shatters once it hits the floor. It was inches away from landing on top of Satan himself, but he doesn’t care.  
The only thing he feels right now is rage.

Eventually he runs out of things to throw and destroy. And he’s forced to stand there, bleeding, in the wreckage that he had made.

And that’s when he sees it.

The broken mirror lays on the floor. Pieces of it are missing, and a large crack makes spider webs across its surface. In its reflection, his reflection, he sees Lucifer’s face contorted in wrath. 

_Ah._

His head is empty. The rage is still there, but it’s overridden by something else. 

Fear. 

Maybe he was never his own person. Maybe this was the world's way of putting him back where he belongs.  
Maybe that precious cure that Lucifer is working towards doesn’t even give him a body, and the two of them just merge.

_...Would that be so bad?_

It’s funny. Before he would have been fine with it. But now something has changed. He doesn’t know what it is, or why he feels that way, but he wants to exist.  
More than anything in this world, he wants to live and be his own person.

But it’s hard. These feelings, these tears that are cascading down his cheeks, they overwhelm him. Wrath and anger, that’s nothing new.  
But sorrow? Fear? He doesn’t know how to fix that, or how to contain it.

So he doesn’t. He just falls to his knees and sobs.

~+~+ 

Satan doesn’t know how long he stays like that. But eventually the tears finally stop. He still feels emotional, unsteady, like he’ll break if he runs into anyone. 

_I can overcome this._

The thought is new. Satan has never told or encouraged himself to do anything. The only thing he ever needed to do was contain his wrath, for everyone’s safety.  
But other than that? It didn’t matter. It never mattered.

It’s strange. Despite how vulnerable he feels right now, he also feels lighter.  
Like a weight has been lifted.

In a weird way, this feeling reminds him of Diavolo, of the encouragement and the support that the prince has shown him time and time again.  
But now Satan is giving it to himself.

Yes, no matter what happens, no matter what the cure ends up on being, or if there even is one at all, he will be fine. He will overcome it. Just like how he overcomes his anger. There is no logic, no evidence to back any of this up. And yet for now, he believes in it.  
He believes in himself.

So he gets up, wipes the rest of his tears off his face, and leaves the broken mirror behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Unfortunately, Satan’s problems don’t get fixed overnight. And believing in himself won’t change who he is, or how he feels. He will be fine.  
He knows this and yet…  
Lucifer’s image still haunts him.

The idea, the concept, of Lucifer has hounded him for his entire existence. Since the day he was born, it has defined his worth. And it seems that no matter what he does, he can’t escape it.

But he can look in the mirror now, and see Lucifer’s face. His anger, his emotions, they don’t consume him or threaten to spin out of control.  
All Satan sees is a body. A rather dumb looking one, but a body nonetheless.  
It’s progress.

He can’t exactly take pride in it, not when it’s something so small, but it does make him happy. A body is a body, and Satan is the one who determines its worth.  
And at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who’s body he winds up in, because he’s still Satan.  
He just doesn’t know what that means.

Who is he? Once you strip himself of the mask and the persona that he’s worked so hard to create, what’s left?  
He doesn’t even have a personality, so how can he have an identity?

But the desire from yesterday is still there. The desire to exist, to be his own person.  
It’s a shame that he’s nothing more than a hollow shell.  
But he doesn’t feel hollow. His brain is full of too many things, of thoughts and emotions that threaten to spiral out of control.

And he has to sort through them all, he doesn’t have a choice. If he leaves it alone, he won’t be in control. And if he’s not in control…

Satan sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.  
In a way, he feels more lost and confused then he did yesterday.  
Emotions are easy, but the fallout…  
Thinking about them is difficult. He wants to ignore it, to just shove all of this away like he typically does.  
So why doesn’t he?  
Why is he trying to confront how he actually feels?

He can’t help but wonder if it’s easier for others. If there are any other demons out there that struggle to accept themselves, or that question their own individuality. Satan knows that there are, that his circumstances aren’t that unique, and yet…  
His birth and creation is something that has never been replicated. No one quite knows who or what he is. A demon, probably, but other than that…

_Ah, but that’s part of what makes him a monster, isn’t it?_  
He’s always been far too different, even by the Devildom’s standards. That's why he’s worked so hard to forge a personality for himself, to fit in. But society has always known, and perhaps his battle right now is proof of that.  
Other demons struggle, but never to this degree.  
They aren’t Satan. 

He glares into the mirror more and more, as if Lucifer’s reflection will prove answers. But, like always, it provides absolutely nothing.

A loud bang echoes across the room as his door is flung open. It’s shortly followed by a voice, one Satan knows all too well.

“Oi, what are you doing?”

_Mammon_. It figures that his brother would barge in without warning, and wouldn’t even bother to read the room.

“I’m trying to get all of my emotions sorted out Mammon, don’t bother me.”

“...Is this about yesterday?”

Like always, he gets straight to the point. Despite how much of an airhead Mammon can be, he's the most intuitive out of them all. Sometimes Satan is grateful for it, and other times…

“I told you not to bother me.”

“Look, ya can’t fix it all in one day.”

And then Mammon does something incredibly dumb, something that only he would think of doing. He walks up to Satan and ruffles his hair.  
“Change ain’t some instant thing. Ya gotta wait for it to happen.”

It’s soothing. It reminds him of times when he was younger, when Mammon used to patch him up after every single one of his tantrums.

“And what if I don’t want to wait? What if I’m tired of being like this?”

Mammon hums.  
“Well, wantin’ to change is the first step.”

“What’s the second one?”

“Existin’! ...And going with me to Hells Kitchen for lunch.”

There’s a pause, and Mammon looks awkwardly to the side. “I’m sorry about what happened the other day. I shouldn’t’ve said that.”

_Existing…_

It sounds so simple when Mammon says it. And maybe it is. Anytime Satan comes across a problem, he always tries to find the answer right away.  
But perhaps, for this, he doesn’t need one. Not yet. All he needs to do is live in the present. Some problems don't have a solution, and are inherently complex. Maybe Satan himself is full of far too many variables, too many unknowns, and that’s why he feels like a trainwreck. But that’s okay, even those problems can be solved once enough equations are thrown into the mix. He just doesn’t have them yet. So there’s no point in stressing himself out over all of this soul searching;  
the answer will come to him in time.

And until then, lunch with Mammon sounds good. It has to be better and more productive then standing in front of this mirror at least.

“It’s fine. And I suppose I am rather hungry…”

His brother’s eyes light up.  
“Perfect!”

“You’re paying though.”

Mammon snorts.  
“Obviously! Just, uh, don’t order too much. I kinda just got Goldie back, and I ain’t losing her again!”

A mischievous grin makes its way across Satan’s face, although it’s mostly for show.  
“I’m not making any promises.”

~+~+

Hell’s Kitchen is one of Satan’s favorite places to eat. Despite being a fast food joint, the atmosphere is warm and welcoming. And although there’s always a large influx of people entering and leaving, no one really stays to dine in. It’s nice, and the closest thing Satan can get to a cafe that serves actual food.  
Their apple pie is also to die for.

They take their seats, and Satan begins to browse through their menu. The temptation to order more than he needs out of spite is there, but Satan ignores it. Mammon is buying enough food for seven people anyways.

Within the blink of an eye he has ordered every single thing on the menu. Satan sighs.  
“We can’t actually eat all of this.”

“I know, that’s what the to-go boxes are for!”

Mammon gets like this sometimes, where he just spends without reservation. Although it’s typically on clothes and other material objects. Food is an interesting choice, but Satan isn’t complaining. It’s better then anything he would have had in the House of Lamentation at least. But with the amount of money that his older brother is spending… Satan can already tell that he’ll have to help him steal his credit card back. 

Not that he has a problem with that. If anything, he’s looking forward to it. But then again, Lucifer probably has more pressing matters to attend to then Mammon’s spending habits.  
Things aren’t exactly normal after all, and it’s been keeping all of them busy.

Their food arrives, and thankfully it doesn't take up their entire table. All Satan has sitting in front of him is a slice of pie and a coffee, and Mammon only has a sandwich and a drink. It’s a nice and normal amount, one that wouldn’t draw too many eyes their way.  
But the same thing can’t be said for the table behind them, where they placed the rest of Mammon’s order.  
It’s filled with boxes upon boxes of food. And on top of it all is a tiny slip of paper with his brother's name on it.

It’s really too much for one demon to carry, and Satan doesn’t think he’ll be of much help. They could use teleportation, but that runs the risk of having it all fall from the ceiling. And charming the staff to take it home for them is technically illegal.  
Mammon really didn’t think this through, did he?  
But it isn’t Satan’s job to figure out how it’s all going to be transported home. He’s just here to eat. So he happily digs into his slice of apple pie, and puts all of his brother's antics behind him.

Even though Hell's Kitchen is quiet, Mammon is not. Every single action he does creates some sort of noise. It’s not a bad thing, especially with how Satan’s day has been so far. In fact, it’s exactly what he needs. If he’s surrounded by noise, by words and sounds that aren’t his own; then he can drown out all of the thoughts that are whirling around in his head.  
He can pretend that they don’t exist, and that everything he’s been through so far has been nothing but a prank gone terribly wrong.

Mammon chatters away about his latest modeling gig, only stopping every now and then to take a long slurp of his soda.  
But after a moment or two he pauses, and then says something completely different. Something that had nothing to do with their conversation.  
“You know, I really admire ya.”

He leans back, and kicks his feet up on the table. If this wasn’t a fast food joint then Satan would have scolded him for it.  
“Dunno what I’d do if I was stuck in Lucifer’s body for this long.”

He wouldn’t have to worry about it for long. Of all of the things that Mammon is, subtle isn’t one of them.

Satan snorts. “You wouldn’t last a day. He’d kill you once you got a wrong answer in class.”

“I'd be in his body, so i’d be stronger! I could even get revenge from all the times he’s hung me from the ceiling!”

“And when it wore off?”

“...Okay, so I might not have thought about that.”

Satan laughs, puts his elbows on the table, and leans forward.  
“So, this is what you would do—“

Their conversation carries on for hours, as they come up with hypothetical scenarios that involve making Lucifer’s life way more difficult. The one involving glitter and a bucket of honey is Satan’s favorite. It’s nice, getting to hang out with Mammon like this. They should do it more often.  
But then Mammon’s phone rings, and Satan remembers why they don’t.

Mammon answers it without hesitation.  
“Hello?  
Wait, you want me to come over to the bar? Right now? And bring money?”

A pause.  
“Um, you need this money for her, right? …It’s for her. Ah, okay. Gotcha.”

There’s only one person (or group of people) that has Mammon completely wrapped around their finger, and that can order him around like this.

“Witches again?”

Mammon sighs. “Yeah, I gotta go. I already paid the tab though, so don’t say I didn’t do anything for ya!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Try not to get maimed too badly.”

His brother laughs as he scrambles around to gather all of his takeout boxes.  
“As if anyone could ever harm the great Mammon!”

_And off he goes._

It’s for the best really. Because now that everything has settled, now that he’s had some time to relax, he wants the exact opposite of what he did five minutes ago.  
He wants to be alone.

~+~+

Satan doesn’t linger in the restaurant after. He throws away their trash, makes sure that Mammon actually paid them (he did), and exits the building.

It’s windy. A low breeze whirls around him, and Satan can hear the rustling of leaves.  
Fall is almost here.  
It’s hard to believe that his entire summer has been this, just him in Lucifer’s body. But despite that, it hasn’t been all that bad.

The wind begins to pick up, and it almost takes Lucifer’s coat with it. A sigh escapes his lips.  
He’s going to have to wear it properly, isn’t he?  
Satan puts one arm through it, and then pauses. He lets the other arm fall to his side, free of the jacket's restraint. The coat hangs awkwardly on his frame; the additional weight on his shoulder makes it very apparent that he’s wearing it wrong. It’s really too big to pull this off.  
But this is how he would normally wear all of his jackets. And, more than anything, it feels right.

The weather is nice too. The wind tickles his face, and the trees rattle as their branch’s sway too and fro. So Satan doesn’t head home. He goes for a walk instead.

He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind. All that matters is that there aren’t any people, that he’s alone. Luckily that isn’t much of a problem. Most demons know better than to wander the Devildom late at night. And Satan exudes enough power to the point where no one should bother him, no matter what body he’s in.

He eventually arrives at a park, where he rests underneath a tree. The place is completely empty, almost like Satan himself. It seems that he’s only capable of feeling two extremes today, either too much or nothing at all. He doesn’t know which one he prefers; he feels jumbled up regardless.

He drags Lucifer’s coat around him, but it provides no comfort. The only thing it’s good for is combating the chill. There’s a tiny part of him that wants Mammon back, but even then Mammon didn’t actually fix anything. He just made him forget. But his advice is sound, and Satan is doing his best to heed it.  
All he has to do right now is exist.

He hears a humming noise, and it takes longer then it should for Satan to realize that it’s his phone. His eyes widen once he sees the notification, but it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.

It's a text from Diavolo.  


> Diavolo: I saw the damages from yesterday. Are you okay?
> 
> Satan: I don’t know 

A pause, then a reply.

> Diavolo: Do you want to talk about it?

_Does he?_ The question echoes across Satan’s mind. But there’s nothing to really talk about, is there?  
He destroys things when he’s angry, that’s just what he does. That’s what he’s always done. But it never means anything, and at the end of the day it doesn’t even make him feel any better.  
So what would he say?

_I’m sorry, that’s just who I am._

__

_I was having an existential crisis and I didn’t mean to destroy a part of your castle, it was an accident._

__

_I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders, but now I feel like I’m going to drift away, and there’s nothing there to ground me._

None of those statements feel right. His brain is all over the place, but when he tries to find an answer it’s completely blank. He doesn’t know how to talk about it, and a part of him isn’t even sure if he wants to.  
He just feels empty.  
It’s been there ever since this morning, and Satan doesn’t know how to get rid of it. It’s as if all of his anger had been released, and it needs to be filled by something else.  
But what else is there to fill it? Rage is the only thing that has ever come naturally to him, and he can’t even summon up the energy to feel annoyed.  
Maybe this void is just a part of him now, and it will be there forever.  
Perhaps that the price that he pays, for no longer defining his worth by the body that he’s in. 

His phone vibrates in his hand.

> Diavolo: Did I ever tell you about the time I got my foot stuck in a toilet?

_What?_

Satan’s internal monologue comes to a halt, and everything becomes untangled. Those thoughts, those emotions, they all unravel themselves and vanish bit by bit as he attempts to process what Diavolo just texted him. 

> Satan: No???
> 
> Diavolo: Well it all started when my father wanted me to babysit the castle. I was staying in RAD at the time, and when I got the keys to the castle, I set them next to this pie that I found on the counter.  
>  I knew that you and your brothers would take it if I didn’t eat it soon, so I was planning to eat the entire thing in the palace and then dump all of the crumbs on my fathers bed.  
>  It was one of those win-win scenarios!  
>  Afterall, he wouldn’t find out about the crumbs until I left, and my father hates me anyway.  
>  Then I got distracted when Barbatos called me, asking me about some paperwork I had just filled out, but before I could answer, I realized that you and your brothers would be there any second to serve dinner, and there was no way I was sharing that pie.  
>  So I burst out of there with the pie and the keys, and the moment I arrive in the castle, I start scarfing down that pie with my bare hands, trying to eat this thing before anyone knows I took it, right?

And Satan can’t help it. Despite everything, he giggles.

> Satan: Wait  
>  I need to hear your voice. There’s no way this is real.

Satan calls him, and Diavolo picks up right away.  
The first thing he hears is Diavolo’s laughter.  
“Oh I assure you, it is.”

Satan chuckles in return,  
“Then by all means, continue.”

And Diavolo does.  
“Well since the pie crust was dry; I chugged a bottle of wine whenever my throat would get dry, and eventually I really needed to go pee.  
Only when I went to flush, the water wouldn’t stop flowing and there was no plunger to be found. Usually I would just shrug and say that it’s someone else’s fault, but let’s be real, my father would have blamed me for his toilet overflowing even if I were several dimensions away. So I jammed my foot in there, hoping it’d make the toilet stop flushing.  
Then my phone rings, and I knew it was Lucifer asking about where his pie went, and because I decided that it would be really funny if I made my ringtone just a bunch of cats meowing, my father’s dog Typhon starts freaking out, bashing into the door over and over again. Now anyone who knows this dog knows that he will happily eat anything, and that includes the pie, and probably myself.  
So my foot’s totally stuck in there, I’m freaking out, the dog’s having a seizure, and I’ve still got half a pie left—“

Another peal of laughter leaves Satan’s lips, and that’s when he remembers his plan of all things. This story is exactly what he needed; it’s the perfect leverage. If it fell into the wrong hands, then Diavolo’s reputation would be absolutely ruined. There’s no way the prince would be able to recover, and as his right hand, Lucifer would suffer as well. 

But Diavolo is still chatting away, and the prince laughs so hard that he begins to snort. A wave of fondness curl’s itself around Satan’s chest, and he knows that he’d never be able to go through with it. The idea of betraying Diavolo’s trust, of hurting him… it makes him feel sick. He’ll just have to do something else, maybe he can change up the plan a little. But that’s also a lost cause, he can’t be bothered to care about his plan long enough to even mess with it. And this story, the warmth and joy that it brought him, is worth far more than getting revenge on Lucifer.  
It’s completely and utterly priceless, and Satan wouldn’t trade it for the world.

They talk for a little longer after that, about nothing and everything. It’s amazing really, how much better Satan feels now. All of his stress, his doubts and anxieties, have melted away. And in its place is something far brighter, something warm and _good_.

The more they chat, the more Satan can feel his heart swell with that nameless emotion from before, the one he gets any time the two of them interact. He’s been feeling it a lot more lately, and it almost seems like it’s getting… stronger?  
Something must be wrong with him.

But he refuses to dwell on it, especially when he could be listening to Diavolo’s voice instead.  
The prince blathers on for a while longer, and Satan can feel himself growing sleepier. He lets out a yawn.

“Ah, did I bore you?”  
Diavolo sounds apologetic, but he couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Of course not. I’m just exhausted. It’s been a very long day.”

“I see. In that case I’ll let you get some rest.”

The opening to tease him is there, and it’s far too tempting to ignore. Satan takes it.  
“Only some?”

That earns him a chuckle.  
“I might come across a funny cat picture of two, and I may not be able to resist the urge to send it to you.”

Satan hums, as if pretending to consider it.  
“I don’t appreciate being disturbed when I’m trying to sleep, but cat memes are always an exception.”

“And me? What if I want to send you photos of myself?”

“Unless you’re wearing cat ears, don’t bother.”

He hears Diavolo snort, and a hearty laugh follows soon after.  
“I see how it is. I’ll let you go now.”

But Satan can’t leave things there. There’s something incredibly important that he has to tell him, something he wanted to say ever since Diavolo answered his call.  
“Wait.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For the story, and for talking to me.”

He can't see Diavolo’s face, but he can practically hear the prince smile. “Of course. I’m just glad you’re feeling better my dear. Get some rest.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too. Good night.”

“Night.”

They hang up, and Satan grins at his phone for a couple of seconds before their conversation finally hits him.  
_Oh._  
He said that he loved him.  
That… really wasn’t a part of the plan.  
But that’s not quite true, is it? Diavolo and Lucifer are in a relationship; they had to have said I love you to one another at some point.

_That’s right. Diavolo thinks that I’m Lucifer. He’s been in love with Lucifer the entire time._

So why does that thought hurt? Why does it make that void inside of him grow even larger?  
After all, Diavolo’s feelings don’t actually matter. Satan didn’t even like him like that. He was just... caught up in the role that he was playing, the role of Diavolo’s boyfriend, the role of **Lucifer**.

_Ah._

Everything pauses for a moment before Satan takes a deep breath and comes to one universal conclusion: he needs a drink.

~+~+

It doesn't take long for him to arrive back at the House of Lamentation and raid Lucifer’s bedroom.  
Satan doesn’t know what Lucifer’s alcohol tolerance is like, but he plans to go over it entirely. His brain is dumb. Every single thought that enters his head is stupid, and he wants them all gone.  
And luckily enough, that shouldn’t be hard. Lucifer’s liquor supply is practically endless. There should be enough of it here to get the job done.

Satan grabs the first bottle he sees, not caring about it’s contents. He chugs it all in one go, and only somewhat regrets it. It burns the back of his throat, and tastes absolutely awful. But, more than anything, it makes him feel lighter. It slows his thoughts down to a crawl. And that's what he’s after. 

Taste is completely and utterly subjective after all. The effect is the only thing that matters.  
He notices several wine glasses tucked away near the fireplace and frowns.  
_How pretentious._  
Wine glasses are dumb, and completely unecessary. He doesn’t need them. He doesn't need anything.  
The only thing he needs is more alcohol. Lucifer’s tolerance appears to be absurdly high. Maybe that’s why he always has a stick up his ass.

After two more bottles he’s pleasantly buzzed. This is what he wanted. No thoughts, no complications, just blissful existence. Finally satisfied, he starts to tidy up and get Lucifer’s secret hiding spots all back in order.

And that’s when he spots the cat wine bottle.  
Well, he can’t just _not_ drink it. The bottle is way too cute to be left sitting there, so he quickly empties it. His world sways for a minute or two, and he hums. For a moment, everything seems perfect, and then reality crashes in. Everything is still muffled, but now his thoughts are loud and clear. They are a never ending cacophony in his head, and Satan just wants it to shut up.

So he grabs a random bottle and plops down on the sofa that's located in the middle of the room. The cat wine bottle is with him too of course, even though it’s empty. Satan looks at it and grins. All alcohol should be packaged like this. He eyes the other bottle in his hand, and an idea enters his brain.  
If he pours the demonus into that empty wine bottle, then he never has to drink out of anything else. All of his drinks can be inside of a cute little cat.  
Will that make them taste better?  
Satan isn’t sure, but there’s only one way to find out.

~+~+

Sir Bottle Cat, as he’s dubbed him, is his new best friend. He at least appreciates Satan, and loves him way more than Lucifer. And he doesn’t make Satan feel strange or weird. He is just a bottle, an incredibly cute bottle; one that can’t leave him, or ditch him for someone else, someone better.  
Diavolo on the other hand…

_Ah.  
That name…_  
Even the prince’s name makes him feel upset. Why did he like Lucifer so much? How could an ass like Lucifer even land someone like Diavolo?  
Someone who was kind, who had a smile brighter than the stars, who’s laughter never failed to make his heart melt.  
Yes, Diavolo shouldn’t be dating Lucifer at all. The entire idea is dumb, they don’t even mesh all that well together.  
_He should date someone like me instead._

But there was no doubt that the prince liked Lucifer. The story of how they met, of how enamored Diavolo was when Lucifer first set foot in the Devildom, was one they all knew by heart.  
_“When I first saw him, I wasn’t even paying attention to what he said. I was too captivated by his glare, one that shook me to my very core. He made dozens of complaints, but I wasn’t bothered in the slightest. For you see, every word of disdain that passed through his lips only made me become more and more besotted—”_

The story is probably longer, but either Lucifer or Barbatos managed to cut him off every single time. Satan hates the fact that he can recall it all so clearly, that the alcohol has yet to wipe it from his head.

He wants to forget; to live in a world where Diavolo doesn’t have shitty taste in men. And perhaps that world can be found at the bottom of another bottle.

~+~+

By the third bottle he thinks he’s onto something. The world feels lighter, and his worries seem incredibly far away. Yes, this might be the one. He’ll live here. Away from Diavolo. Away from everyone. Just him and Sir Bottle Cat.

And they’ll be happy together. They’ll do… something. What do bottles even do? Do they just lay there?  
It doesn’t matter. Satan can do that too. It will be easy, much easier than dealing with his thoughts.

He hugs Sir Bottle Cat to his chest.  
Unfortunately, it can’t hug him back, but it’s the thought that counts.  
Satan pulls the bottle away, and it’s eyes glimmer at him. He’s being ridiculous, isn’t he?

He wants to go back, back to that world he was in before. But it’s the same world isn’t it? Just with a different coat of paint. And no amount of alcohol is going to change that. 

Yes, perhaps he’s had enough. But before he can move, his phone vibrates. His expression immediately sours once he notices who it’s from.

> Lucifer: I’ll be stopping by shortly in order to finish our discussion from yesterday. Don’t even attempt to avoid me.

On second thought, he’s clearly not drunk enough for this. Satan grabs another bottle and downs it.

~+~+

By the time Lucifer enters the room, he’s consumed at least five more bottles. His mind is blissfully empty, full of nothing but expensive demonus and a desire to see the prince.

_...Huh. He was trying to avoid one of those things. But which one was it?_

Lucifer’s disappointed expression jars him from those thoughts. And all of a sudden, Satan is incredibly sad that there aren’t any more bottles left.  
Lucifer should get more. Sir Bottle Cat needs friends. Maybe he can even get a Prince Bottle Cat, and the two of them can live happily ever after. They can have little shot glass kittens and—

“—are you even listening to me?”

He isn’t. The only thing Satan’s listening to right now is his heart, and it wants one thing in particular.

“I wanna see Diavolo!”  
He proclaims it with a pout, like a child demanding to go to the zoo.

And Lucifer handles it all like an overworked father who’s just finished his eighth cup of coffee.  
“You’re drunk out of your ass, and you’re in my body. I’m not allowing you to leave this room for 24 hours.”

“I wanna text him!!”

“And tell him what?”

Satan giggles.  
“There’s this cat meme I saw the other day, and it reminded me of him. It’s a large majestic looking cat, and it’s in a sink, right? And in the picture it says _‘Halp! I’m sinking!’_ ”

His giggles quickly transform into shrieks of laughter, as he repeats the joke over and over again.  
( _‘Get it?! It’s in the sink but it’s also sinking! And the cat itself—‘_ ). 

Lucifer doesn’t get it, nor does he even try to understand. He simply pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation and sighs.  
“You can text him that when you’re sober.”

Satan has at least stopped talking, but he’s still snickering under his breath. And in that brief period of time, Lucifer realizes that he forgot something very important.  
“Wait, don’t text him cat memes at all. That’s my phone.”

The laughter is gone, and the only thing on Satan’s face is a scowl.  
“Your phone is stupid and boring. Just like you.”

It wasn’t his most articulate response, but Satan is still somewhat proud of it. Despite the amount of alcohol coursing through his system, he’s never too drunk to insult Lucifer.  
It’s second nature to him, like breathing.  
_Ah, speaking of breathing, there was another cat meme that he needs to show—_

Lucifer interrupts his train of thought with a snarl.  
“We were _supposed_ to have a talk, but it looks like you're determined to ruin that too.”

“Don’t care. You’re stupid. Don’t know why Diavolo loves you.”

“He doesn’t Satan, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Lucifer’s expression shifts, and a familiar worried look is there instead.  
“I don’t know why you think that we’re in a relationship, but the fact that Diavolo hasn’t dissuaded you at all troubles me.”

_Does he really think I’m that naive?_  
Yes, Satan is drunk, but he isn’t that drunk. Not enough for Lucifer to get away with blatantly lying to his face.  
And it’s such a bold lie too.  
_How dumb does he think I am?_

Satan rolls his eyes at him, or tries to at least. It’s rather hard when the world around him feels incredibly fuzzy.  
“Course you’re in a relationship with him. Why wouldn’t you be?”

He must have been successful, because Lucifer sounds even more exasperated then before.  
“Satan, why would I ever want to date Lord Diavolo?”

What kind of question is that?  
There are millions of reasons why, and they all spill from Satan’s mouth.  
“Cause he’s beautiful. And he’s so fucking smart and funny. Like, I could just hang around with him for hours, you know?”

“I do not.”

“He just.. gets me. In a way you or no one else ever can.”

“Satan, he hardly knows you.”

Satan can feel his anger start to bloom, even in his drunken state.  
_How dare he._  
Lucifer doesn’t know anything about the relationship that he has with Diavolo. He has shown sides of himself to the prince that no one else has ever seen, and Diavolo has done the same.

“You’re wrong. We know each other now. Would know each other better if Mammon wasn’t such a cockblock.”

“What are you—Nevermind.”  
Lucifer takes a deep breath and his tail lashes out behind him.  
It’s funny, Satan didn’t remember seeing him transform.  
When did that happen?

Lucifer’s next statement is measured, as if it is taking all of his concentration not to just snap.  
“I’m completely and utterly right. You really don’t know a thing about him.”

But Satan has evidence to prove otherwise.  
“Did he tell you the toilet story?”

“No??”  
The baffled expression on Lucifer’s face is absolutely priceless. It’s a shame that they aren’t in their own bodies; it would have been a million times funnier otherwise. 

“Then shut up. You don’t know shit.”

And then, something strange happens. Lucifer’s anger melts away, and there is something… softer there. Satan doesn’t like it. Lucifer’s ire, his rage, is easier to deal with then whatever _this_ is.  
“Satan, I’ve been by his side for a very long time, and I’ve never known what he’s thinking. You shouldn’t just assume that you understand him completely after only a couple of months.”

The way he looks at him reminds him of a mother cat rushing over to help their kitten, or of a dog trying to protect their puppies. And in that situation, he would be...  
He must be more drunk than he thought. Lucifer would never show him that level of concern. 

But apparently his interrogation isn’t over.  
“Lord Diavolo has been known to do ridiculous things when he’s bored. He could be toying with you.”

_Or maybe he enjoys spending time with me. Maybe he prefers my company over yours._

__

__

_Maybe you aren’t actually his favorite._

“Or perhaps he just likes me, you ever thought of that?”

There’s a stretch of silence, and for a brief moment Satan believes that their conversation is finally over.  
Unfortunately, he’s completely and utterly wrong.

Lucifer’s next comment is speculative, one that’s probing for answers.  
“...It almost sounds like you want him to like you.”

Is that so strange?  
The entire reason he even bothered trying to get a personality in the first place was so that way people could like him. That’s why the mask exists.  
And for the first time in his life, he wants someone to like him outside of it.  
He wants to be cherished for who he is underneath it all.  
...Maybe that is weird.  
“And if I do? Why do you care?”

Lucifer frowns.  
“Because you’re important to me. You’re my brother, Satan.”

_Brother_. That word again. It’s not one Lucifer directs at him often, but it still fills him with rage.

“I’m not your brother.”

And for once, Lucifer doesn’t dismiss it, nor does he tease him.  
“...That’s the only term I know that doesn’t make me want to vomit. I know you dislike it, but I can’t—“

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, I get it.”

There’s no need to go into details, especially about _that_. Satan understands it all too perfectly.  
“You don’t have to explain shit to me. I was there too.”

“...Sometimes I forget that you were.”

It really is too easy for him to empathize with Lucifer. Perhaps it’s because of the fact that they were once in the same body, but Satan knows each and every one of Lucifer’s motivations as if they were his own. So there’s really no need for Lucifer to sit down and try to explain why he hates the idea of being called a father. Satan gets it, but that doesn’t mean that he likes it.  
That doesn’t make it all hurt any less.

“I know. You’re dumb. It’s why Sir Bottle Cat is my dad now.”

Yes, Sir Bottle Cat would be a better dad, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t have any hang ups or issues. And he wouldn’t call Satan a brother just because of some awful memories. He is just a bottle, and a bottle can’t disappoint him.  
A bottle can’t neglect him and leave him to be raised by someone else.

He tugs the bottle closer to his chest once more, and hears Lucifer let out a sigh.

“You’re not going to remember any of this in the morning, are you?”

Probably not. His mind already feels foggy and slow. But that was the point. Maybe.  
Satan had forgotten the point that he was trying to make several bottles ago. But it doesn’t matter, it's not like they talked about anything worth remembering.

He hears Lucifer grumble underneath his breath.  
“I’m not looking forward to repeating this conversation.”

“Don’t. Never talk to me again.”

“I’ll be talking to you tomorrow actually. We have history class together, and I know you wouldn’t dream of skipping.”

Satan lets out a string of curses, most of them get muffled in his pillow, but his middle finger does most of the talking for him.

Lucifer chuckles.  
“At least you haven’t lost your spirit. Will you still be like that when the hangover sets in, I wonder?”

He raises his middle finger up even higher, and Lucifer lets out an amused snort.

The bastard takes his phone.

“I’m hiding this so that way you can’t access it until morning. The last thing Diavolo needs is to listen to your drunken rambling.”

“Fuck you.”

“Goodnight to you too Satan. And if you try to leave this room with even a single drop of alcohol in your bloodstream, I’ll slaughter you.”

Satan hears the door shut, and angrily grumbles into his pillow once more.  
Lucifer really is the absolute worst. He never allows anyone to have any fun, and forces them all to ‘face reality’. But reality sucks, and Lucifer is an asshat. Diavolo is different. His optimism, his brilliant schemes and his childish games, are the highlight of Satan’s day. And Diavolo deserves to know that, doesn’t he? He’s never held back from complimenting Satan on anything he did, so perhaps it’s time that he returned the favor. It’s one of the many reasons that Satan is dying to call him.

Lucifer, of course, has complicated things. It’s rather hard for him to contact Diavolo without a phone. But he didn’t really get rid of it, did he? In fact, it’s still in the room. And Satan saw exactly where he put it.

That’s what Lucifer gets, for assuming that Satan can’t pay attention to things when he’s wasted. His brain is slower, there’s no doubt about that, but it’s not like it’s nonexistent.

So he stumbles on over to Lucifer’s dresser, and starts rummaging around in it. His hands sift through various pieces of clothing until he finds what he’s looking for.

_Bingo._

He grabs his phone, giddy with excitement. Satan drunkenly fumbles around with it, but he eventually manages to get the passcode right and open up his contacts.

He grins.  
Now, the real question is: should he call or text Diavolo first?

~+~+

The next day, Satan wakes up and hates literally everything; the stupid alarm reminding him of classes he’s definitely not going to attend, the sound of his brothers bickering in the kitchen, the fact that his room is absolutely freezing. It’s all awful. If only the world could just go away and vanish, then maybe his headache would go along with it.

_It’s all Lucifer’s fault._  
Why did he even own that much liquor anyways?  
If he had a normal amount then Satan wouldn’t be sporting the mother of all hangovers. He wouldn’t have even gotten that drunk if Lucifer didn’t try to talk to him.

…What did they even talk about?  
Nothing important, probably. Unless it involves the cure, then Satan doesn’t want to know. He’s perfectly fine with forgetting whatever it was that Lucifer nagged him about.  
If only he could forget all of his conversations with Lucifer. That would be a dream come true.

His alarm goes off again, and Satan finally summons enough magical energy to turn it off and cure most of his hangover.  
And that’s when he remembers getting his phone back.  
That’s when he remembers calling and texting Diavolo.

_Fuck._

Satan scrambles on over to his phone. He knows that he said _something_ , sent _something_ , but it’s all a blur. And given how… mushy his thoughts have been lately, he can’t help but panic. 

Luckily all of the texts he sent to Diavolo were illegible. Most were just an assorted mess of random emoticons. The other ones appear to be cat jokes, but only half of them were finished.

It’s the two hour long phone call that haunts him. He doesn’t remember any of it.

_Well, time to do some damage control._

> Satan: I’m sorry about last night.
> 
> Diavolo: I take it you’re feeling better?
> 
> Satan: Yes. I’ve been a bit of a mess recently. I apologize.
> 
> Diavolo: There’s no need. I enjoy seeing different sides of you.  
>  Although, it’s probably best for you to stay away from alcohol in the future.
> 
> Satan: I also don’t remember anything from our phone call. Please tell me I didn’t say anything embarrassing.
> 
> Diavolo: You sang a lovely rendition of our National Anthem, with a few minor changes.  
>  But no, you didn’t say anything bad.
> 
> Satan: That’s good.
> 
> Diavolo: Oh, since you’re feeling better, I wanted to send you this. I saw it and thought of you!

It’s an incredibly familiar picture, one that Satan recognizes right away. It’s the exact same cat meme that he’s been wanting to send to Diavolo for the past couple of days, he’s just been… busy. A wave of affection rushes through him as he glances over the picture once more.  
_Great minds really do think alike._

Satan texts him a laughing emoji and his fingers move across the keyboard. There’s a question he wants to ask him, one that’s been nagging at him ever since Diavolo said I love you in return.

> _Do you love me for who I am?_

Satan has the words typed out, and his thumb hovers over the send button.

It’s strange. Satan already knows the answer.  
It’s no, of course it is. He wasn’t made to be loved or cherished, he simply just… existed.  
Lucifer is different. Lucifer is adored. And Diavolo is too; it's why the two of them make a perfect pair. The prince was probably just caught up in the moment, but even then…

Could he love Satan instead? 

Once again, the answer is obviously no. There’s nothing Satan can do that Lucifer can’t do better. And Lucifer is the one who’s in a relationship with him.  
But still, there’s a shred of confidence; there’s something inside of him that believes that Diavolo’s answer could be different. That this is a question worth asking. The curiosity makes him want to hit send.

Ah, but it doesn’t matter, does it? The prince thinks he’s Lucifer after all, so his answer would be completely meaningless. And even if he liked the persona of Satan, he obviously cared for Lucifer a whole lot more.  
Yes, he never stood a chance, did he? It’s not surprising, but still…

A part of him had hoped for something different; that for once in his life he could be enough. For a split second, Satan had the audacity to believe that he could be loved.  
How foolish.

The insecurity, those doubts, swirl around within him. But that’s nothing new. These thoughts are familiar, and they’ve painted Satan’s mind from the very day he was born. So he does what he did before, what he has always done, and shoves it all into a box.

He takes a breath, and then several more, before he deletes what is probably the dumbest message that he’s ever written.  
_I can’t believe that I almost sent it._

He replaces it with a joke, and automatically feels more at ease.  
Emotions are hard, but this?  
This is easy.

> Satan: I’m glad you sent it to me. My day would have been a **cat** astrophe otherwise.
> 
> Diavolo: Yes. The idea of you being upset is **cat** astrophic.

_Ah, it really is easy, isn’t it?_  
Satan cherishes their back and forth, whether it’s puns or something a bit more robust. It’s nice, being able to talk with someone like this. And luckily, whatever he said to Diavolo last night didn’t change the prince’s opinion of him.

...Two hours. He probably made a complete ass of himself. 

He’s surprised that Lucifer didn’t do more to stop him. Shouldn’t his reputation mean everything to him? Satan could have ruined it completely, and yet…  
All he did was hide his phone. At least, that’s what Satan thinks he did. His memory of their encounter is still incredibly fuzzy. He can’t recall what Lucifer said for the life of him, although he can probably hazard a guess:  
_Don’t drunk-dial Lord Diavolo._

A valid warning, but one Satan knows that he would have ignored without hesitation, sober or not. After all, Lucifer isn’t the boss of him, and Diavolo actually has a sense of humor. So despite the embarrassment that burns at his cheeks, Satan doesn’t regret any of it. He probably made Diavolo’s day at least. And he trusts the prince not to breathe a word of it to anyone. Just like how Diavolo trusts him in return. They both know incredibly embarrassing stories about each other now, but it’s okay.  
It's a secret between the two of them. No one else is ever going to know.


	9. Chapter 9

The ball is finally here. Satan, quite frankly, couldn’t care less about it. But as Diavolo’s right hand man he’s expected to arrive early and make sure that preparations are in order. Luckily it's a fairly easy job. He and his brothers already did most of the work. All he has to do is make sure that no one's messed anything up. Satan goes through each and every room and marks things off of his checklist.  
_So far so good._

But whenever he arrives at the ballroom, something is incredibly wrong. It isn’t empty.  
There’s a lone demon standing in the middle of the room, tapping her foot and browsing through her phone. For a split second Satan thinks she might be an intruder, but then he sees the golden comb glint in her hair. It’s incredibly ornate, and Diavolo’s crest sits in the middle of it. 

_Ah, she must be his date._

He had completely forgotten that Diavolo had one.  
But why is she here so early?  
Isn’t Diavolo supposed to escort her?

His thoughts are interrupted by the clicking of heels on the ballroom floor. She’s approaching him.

“Good morning, Lucifer. I’m Alonsa, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Satan nods and shakes her hand.  
“The pleasure’s all mine.”

_Alonsa._ Why did that name sound so familiar?

...Ah, he remembers now. Diavolo said that he would be dancing with her. That’s why they had all of those lessons together.  
It was for her. His date.

She seems to regard him for a bit before her entire demeanor shifts.  
“Look I know we’ve just met, but I need you to do me a favor, and Diavolo says that you can be trusted.”

Well, things are already becoming more interesting. Satan inclines his head towards a nearby bench, and the two of them sit down.

Alonsa sighs, her gaze dropping to the floor.  
“I don’t want to dance with him. I’m not even interested in men, but I have a reputation to uphold. And for my own family’s safety I must be seen as a candidate to be Diavolo’s consort. But I can’t fake it. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how many times we practiced, I just couldn’t make it seem natural. I can’t even pretend to love him, not when I'm in love with someone else.”

Her brows furrow, and when she turns to look at Satan, her eyes burn with determination.  
“That’s where you come in. I need you to take my place.”

_Oh, I already like where this is going._  
This entire concept is already more entertaining than anything Satan had planned on doing tonight.  
And if Diavolo is involved… then things are bound to be entertaining.

So Satan hears her out.  
“Your place? And how exactly would I do that?”

“Easy. Just wear this disguise and stay by Diavolo’s side all night.”

She hands him a bag, and Satan doesn’t have to sift through the contents in order to tell that there’s a dress inside. But still… the idea of dancing with Diavolo and acting as his date; it’s all too tempting. And if they were planning this from the get go…  
Does that mean that Diavolo never intended to dance with her? That he was always going to pick him instead?  
Is that why they had all of those dancing lessons together?

_Hah, what a cunning little plan._  
But it still has one major flaw.  
The entire thing falls apart if Satan says no. 

He can’t help but wonder if Diavolo had planned for that. Did he consider every single possibility? How in depth was their little scheme?  
...There’s only one way to find out.  
“Why?”

Alonsa seems startled by his question.  
“Huh?”

“Why should I help you? What do I get in return?”

“You get to look damn fine in a gown.”

Satan raises his brow.

She sighs. “Fine. Diavolo also told me to tell you that he will make it worth your while, whatever that means.”

_Worth my while, huh?_  
A million thoughts run through Satan’s head. The statement is so vague that it could mean anything. But the implications alone...  
The curiosity overwhelms him.  
And Diavolo had anticipated this. The prince truly leaves no stone unturned. _How crafty of him._

Satan was already willing to do it before, but now… quite frankly the ball can’t come quick enough. He can think of no better way to spend the night.

So he turns to Alonsa and grins.  
“Okay then. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

~+~+

Alonsa happily tosses him the bag and shoves the comb in it. Her hair looks different now, more free. Even her demeanor is more upbeat. She thanks him over and over again as she hashes out the plan, but Satan is only vaguely listening to her.  
It’s not that complicated, and he’s already figured most of it out. Instead his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, and they are all focused on one demon in particular. 

It had been a long time since the two of them had danced, or it felt like a long time ago at least. Satan had missed it. And now he has the opportunity to do it again. 

Alonsa leaves, but the anticipation and excitement swirling around within him does not. And in the midst of all of those feelings he texts Diavolo.

> Satan: I spoke with Alonsa this morning. I said yes.
> 
> Diavolo: I just got her message. I’m glad you agreed to it!
> 
> Satan: Why didn’t you just tell me from the beginning?
> 
> Diavolo: I was unsure as to whether or not you would be comfortable with it. I didn’t want to overstep.
> 
> Satan: Don’t be silly. I would have said yes.
> 
> Diavolo: Truly? Even then?

Satan’s fingers pause over the keyboard.  
Would he have agreed to it back then?  
It’s true that they’ve always had fun together, but pretending to go as his date is another thing entirely. He probably would have said yes out of curiosity. But whether or not we would be comfortable with it…  
The dynamic that they have is new. There is a trust and a sense of safety that wasn’t there before. It makes him feel like they can do anything, as long as they are together. 

That thought seems to summon a bunch of butterflies that flutter around in his stomach. But in a strange way he almost kind of likes them. They make him feel…  
What do they make him feel?  
...It’s unimportant. Whatever it is, it doesn’t frighten him. Not anymore.  
As long as it doesn’t have a label, and it just remains as some nameless thing, it’s okay. It’s an emotion that he can repress whenever he wants to. And he will want to… eventually. 

> Satan: Even then. Although I probably would have felt incredibly anxious.
> 
> Diavolo: And now?
> 
> Satan: I’m looking forward to it. We’ve done this dance a million times, haven’t we?
> 
> Diavolo: We have. I enjoyed our lessons immensely.
> 
> Satan: As did I.
> 
> Diavolo: It’s amazing how much has changed in such a short period of time.

Yes. Before he came up with this plan, he would never have given Diavolo the time of day. In fact, the prince had never crossed his mind, not even once. But now...  
He seems to have carved a place for himself in Satan’s heart. Now things are irreversibly different.

He replies to Diavolo’s statement, and it almost feels like he’s sealing his fate. Like this is the confirmation of something incredibly important. 

> Satan: It is. And I’m thankful for it.

~+~+

Satan puts on the dress and smirks.  
Lucifer in a ball gown looks absolutely hilarious. Granted it’s not actually Lucifer, but it’s the thought that counts. It clashes with him horribly. Diavolo’s right hand man, the most powerful among them all, and when placed in a dress he looked so dainty. So fucking stupid. Satan giggles again, before bringing out his phone and taking several pictures.  
The more selfies he takes, the dumber his poses become. And filters, as it turns out, makes them ever better. Satan skims through them all before finding one that gives you cat ears and showers you with hearts.  
_Perfect_.  
He purses his lips at the camera, throws up a peace sign, and takes the shot.  
It’s the most unattractive thing he’s ever seen.  
He laughs so hard that he can hardly breathe.  
And before he can think about it, he sends it to Diavolo.  
The reply is instantaneous.

> Diavolo: I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. The dress suits you.
> 
> Satan: Liar.
> 
> Diavolo: No I’m serious. It’s as bright and joyful as you are. Red certainly is your color. You should wear it more often.

Satan proceeds to send him another selfie, this one somehow more unflattering than the last.

> Diavolo: I hope you know I almost choked on my drink.
> 
> Satan: That’s what you get for texting during important meetings.

And, just to make things more interesting, he texts Diavolo one last picture. It’s of him flashing a sultry wink to the camera, with a filter that covers the entire thing with sparkles.  
If only Lucifer could see him now. He looks like a moron.

Diavolo replies several minutes later.

> Diavolo: Ha. I see you’re testing me. If you’re not too careful I’ll get my revenge.
> 
> Satan: I’d like to see you try.

Satan sets down his phone and finally puts on the rest of his disguise. He places the amulet around his neck, and the change is instant. His hair morphs into long golden tresses that hang past his shoulders, and his eyes turn green. It’s funny, Satan didn’t notice this before, but they almost kind of look alike. Granted, Satan isn’t a girl, and his eyes are more of an aquamarine instead, but still…  
They probably could have passed for siblings at least.  
Either way, it’s nice to look into the mirror and see someone else for a change. Someone that’s a bit closer to _him_.

_Ah, but there’s one final touch that’s missing._  
Satan reaches down into the bottom of the bag, and pulls out the golden comb. It’s easy enough to slide into his hair. And once he pulls his hands away, his eyes gravitate towards Diavolo’s crest, which is proudly engraved on it. It’s weird. The comb isn’t enchanted. Everything about it is completely and utterly ordinary. So why does it make his heart race?

...He must be anticipating this dance more than he thought. Satan takes a deep breath to calm himself, and looks over into the mirror once more. They look so much alike. Maybe it’s because he’s had to see Lucifer’s reflection for months, but Alonsa’s blond hair and green eyes are incredibly comforting. It’s as if it’s just him in a dress and makeup, and this whole body swap thing never happened. 

Maybe that’s why he feels so strange.

With that comb upon his head, it’s almost as if Diavolo is claiming him instead, like he’s showing him off to the world. And Satan has no complaints. It’s a rather prestigious position, to be in Diavolo’s arms for the night. Many demons would kill for this opportunity. But Satan isn’t thinking about politics, or about Diavolo’s royal blood. The only thing on his mind is the dance that they will be sharing within the next hour, and how much he’s looking forward to it.

~+~+

The ball starts in ten minutes, and Diavolo arrives to escort him. Satan isn’t surprised to see that the prince is in his demonic form, but he had forgotten how pretty it was. The gold, the fur collar, it all frames Diavolo’s body perfectly. He’s absolutely stunning, but Satan doesn’t know why it’s only occurring to him now. He’s seen Diavolo before, he’s touched him in this form before. But then again, his mind was always focused on other things. Now there is nothing else to take his attention away. There is only Diavolo, and the way his golden accessories reflect off of every flat surface in the room.

But strangely enough, Satan doesn’t feel flustered. After all, it’s not the first time that he’s considered Diavolo to be attractive or beautiful, and it won’t be the last. It’s just never been this incredibly apparent. Perhaps it’s because of the context. Satan is here as his date after all, even if he is only a fake one.

The prince’s jewelry jangles and clinks together as he moves towards him. He looks Satan over and grins.  
“The disguise looks even better in person. I’m glad the amulet worked!”

He pauses, and then his eyes light up, as if he just came up with a brilliant idea.  
“Ah, but it’s missing one thing.”

Diavolo unhooks one of the charms off of his necklace and attaches it to the amulet that Satan has around his neck.  
“For good luck.”

He says that, but Satan doesn’t feel any magic or enchantment radiating off of it. Unlike the amulet, this charm has nothing to offer. It’s completely and utterly ordinary. But Diavolo doesn’t seem the least bit phased when he points it out.

The prince just laughs.  
“It’s a token of my affection! And that makes it enchanting enough. It also matches your outfit.”

So it’s a gift then. For some reason that makes Satan feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He touches the charm, _his charm_ , and that feeling grows a bit stronger. It’s just a piece of metal, and yet it’s the best gift he’s ever received.  
...To be fair he’s never exactly received many gifts in the first place, but it’s the thought that counts.  
And the fact that Diavolo was even thinking of him… that’s all that matters.  
“It’s not technically my outfit, but thanks.”

Diavolo smiles, and it’s an incredibly soft thing. Yet for a split second, Satan can’t help but think that it looks a bit sad.  
“Once this is all over, you will have to return everything back to Alonsa. That charm, however, is for you to keep. As a reminder of what you mean to me.”

How is it that Diavolo is able to make him feel incredibly important each and every time they interact? With his praise, and his affection, Satan can feel all of his doubts and insecurities begin to vanish. And now he has physical proof of it that he can take with him wherever he goes.

_I am special._

It seems like such a silly phrase, but it’s one that Satan always struggled to believe. But with Diavolo… maybe he can start to. Maybe he can believe that he has something to offer, even if he doesn’t know what it is.

Diavolo places his hand on Satan’s shoulder.  
“When we enter the ballroom, all eyes will be on you. Our dance will begin shortly afterwards.”

The idea of it doesn’t intimidate Satan in the least.  
_Let them stare._  
_Let them envy me._  
Because unlike Satan, they are not remarkable.  
They are not who Diavolo chose.

So Satan is unable to hide the excitement in his voice and he drags Diavolo out of the room.  
“Then what are we waiting for? Lets go.”

~+~+

Their arms are interlinked as the ballroom doors open in front of them.  
And Diavolo is right. As soon as they enter the room, Satan can feel each and every eye land on him. But that isn’t exactly a new feeling, people have watched him from the day he was born. Those looks were usually filled with fear and hatred, and Satan always did his best to drown it out by focusing on the book in front of him. But this is different. No one has ever looked at him and wanted to be in his place, at least until now.  
Being envied is a new experience.  
But that doesn’t cause him to falter, not in the slightest. Those demons mean absolutely nothing to him. Their opinions did not matter before, and they do not matter now. So Satan holds his head high and doesn’t even bother trying to conceal his giddiness. 

They unlock their arms as they arrive at the center of the room. Diavolo bows before him, and their show begins.

The prince's head tilts upwards, and their eyes meet.  
“May I have this dance?”

And Satan plays his part well. He offers Diavolo a curtsey and accepts.

They make their way to the dance floor, and one of Diavolo’s hands caresses his lower back. The other one grabs his hand. 

Diavolo whispers in his ear, “Are you ready?”

Of course he is. Satan has been craving this moment ever since he agreed to take Alonsa’s place. It will be just like all of the many times that they’ve practiced together. Only this time there’s an audience. And this time, he has something to prove. He may not be in his body, but that doesnt matter. No one can compete with him. No one can challenge this connection that they’ve made.

He places his remaining hand on Diavolo’s shoulder, and flashes him a dazzling grin  
“Yes. Let's put on a show that they’ll never forget.”

Diavolo seems to echo the sentiment. The smile that he gives Satan is as wide as ever. The music begins to play, and they _move_.

They are in sync as they glide across the room. Each step is measured, calculated. A standard tango. A standard dance. But Satan knows that it won't remain that way for long. Diavolo is going to spice it up, that’s what he always does. It's only a matter of when. 

And Satan has no intention of letting Diavolo trip him up. It’s a challenge, and both of them intend to win. So their gazes are locked on one another, and the rest of the world fades into the background. There is only them and this dance. This competition.  
They are two predators, eying one another up as they try to determine when to strike. And although the tension is there, a softness lurks underneath it all. The dumb grin that’s reflected on both of their faces makes that incredibly apparent. There’s no malice, no frustration. Only pleasure, and whatever that soft nameless emotion is. Normally they are bound by their duties, and by the persona that they have created. But in this one moment, in this one dance, they are free.

Diavolo dips him, and Satan follows through with ease. But when he rises back up, he brings himself closer. His thigh slides right in between Diavolos, and feels the prince shutter as he pulls it back.  
Satan might not be the lead, but that doesn’t give the prince permission to underestimate him. There are plenty of ways for him to gain the upper hand without being in control. No matter what position he is in, he can always catch Diavolo by surprise.  
And the prince has absolutely no problem with it. In fact, judging by the satisfied grin and fond look in his eye, he’s incredibly pleased. Satan throws him a wink, and Diavolo stifles his laughter.

He twirls them around, and their competition continues. 

It’s amazing how much they’ve improved since then. Their dance has evolved and taken a life of its own. It’s so inherently different from their first lesson, and yet elements of it are similar. The joy, the laughter, that has not changed. But their flow has. It’s seamless. Each transition, each step; they are somehow more in tune with one another then they were before. 

He had truly missed this. Dancing with Diavolo is a treat, one that he should try to indulge in more often.  
They spin around once more, and Satan can already tell that their dance is coming to its conclusion. It’s one they both know by heart, the one element that, despite everything, has never changed. But there is something about it that seems empty, like it doesn't quite suit what they've become. Satan has never been much of an author. He doesn't know how to create a good ending. Yet with this dance, he is determined to try. So he does something entirely different, something that Diavolo could never have predicted. 

He feels Diavolo’s weight shift. But before the prince can move, Satan dips himself. He slides his hand up to Diavolo’s neck, and let’s himself fall. He doesn’t fall far. The Diavolo’s hand lightly grabs the back of his head, and they remain in that pose for several seconds.  
The song ends, and applause erupts around the room.  
But neither one of them hear it.  
The only thing they hear is their own labored breathing. 

Reality seems to hit them both at the same time, and they pull away. Diavolo’s cheeks are stained pink, and although there aren’t any mirrors around, Satan knows that he isn’t faring any better. Their dance is done, but Satan’s heart hasn’t gotten the memo. It’s still racing.

Diavolo intertwines their hands. And automatically Satan feels more at peace. He takes a couple breaths, and Diavolo seems to follow his example. Their heart rate slows down, and the blush fades. All that‘s left is a sense of contentment.

Diavolo’s thumb lightly strokes over his hand.  
“You did well.”

Satan can feel himself preen underneath Diavolo’s praise. He accomplished something extraordinary today, didn’t he? But he didn’t do so alone.

“I had an excellent partner.”

“So did I.”

The prince apparently refuses to let him have the last word, but that’s fair enough. It was a group effort. Something that only the two of them could have done.  
Their eyes meet, and Satan can feel himself becoming warmer, more… content. Somewhere during the time that Diavolo grabbed his hands they drew closer together. And for a split second, Satan wants to close that gap.

But then the noise kicks in, and that thought gets tossed aside. There are other couples entering the dance floor now, and a slower tune begins to play.  
Satan expects Diavolo to leave, now that their dance is finished, but the price stays. And his hands move to Satan’s waist.

_Ah, he wants to slow dance._

Satan feels himself stiffen up, and Diavolo takes it the wrong way.  
“Oh, do you not want—“

But Satan is quick to reassure him.  
“No, I do. I just don’t know how.”

It’s the one thing he wasn’t prepared for.  
It’s not like they had books on slow dancing, or that there’s some secret technique that Satan could have studied. From what he can tell it just involves emotions, and awkwardly swaying from side to side. So it shouldn’t be hard. But the idea of it makes Satan feel flustered.

A soft chuckle leaves Diavolo’s lips.  
“Don't worry, it’s incredibly easy. Allow me to teach you for once.”

This will be a first. Satan hasn’t been taught anything in a very long time. Each and every one of his classes at RAD covers material that he already knows, it’s one of the drawbacks of reading so many books. And although some fresh insight is nice, it doesn’t change how boring and repetitive it all is. But this is completely new, like so many other things that he has experienced by Diavolo’s side.  
So how could he say no? Why would he ever want to?

Satan nods, and Diavolo’s eyes sparkle.  
“Hands on my waist.”

So Satan moves his hands accordingly. They skim the prince's hips, and brush up against his low riding pants. It feels promiscuous, but that’s okay. Because more importantly, it feels right. Like his hands belonged there. 

Diavolo does the same, and once they settle into place, Satan is hit by that feeling once more. It’s strange. It’s not even the first time that they’ve held one another like this. So what’s different?  
Why is it that now of all times, they feel like two puzzle pieces slotting together?

The prince’s voice is a soft murmur.  
“Perfect. Now close your eyes.”

...That doesn’t make any sense. How can he dance if he can’t see what he’s doing?  
“I don’t know what—“

Diavolo places a finger on his mouth and shushes him.  
“Don’t think. Feel.”

So Satan closes his eyes, and one by one empties each and every thought in his head. Normally that would be an impossible thing to do, but with Diavolo… It’s easy to shove it all aside, to focus on this feeling instead. And it's an incredibly nice feeling. Has he thought that before?  
...He probably has. It seems like it's always there now, simmering in the background.  
Normally he brushes it aside, but this time…  
Satan submits.

That feeling wraps around him, and seems to guide his actions. Everything slows down. His steps, his breathing; It all comes to a crawl. There’s only the two of them, and the romantic melody that drones on in the background. Satan finds himself humming along,

Diavolo’s dulcet tone eventually breaks through the music in the air.  
“There you go. You’re doing great my dear.”

_My dear._ Diavolo didn't even whisper it. And unlike all of the dozens of times he’s said it before, there are people around.

“Are you sure it’s wise to call me that? Won’t the others hear?”

Diavolo waves off his concern.  
“Ah, we are old news now. Our dance earlier already did it’s job. I usually bring someone different to the ball every time, so they won’t pay us any mind.”

So it isn’t the first time he’s done this. Although their deception is probably new. He can’t imagine Lucifer or Barbatos agreeing to dance with him, and that’s not even counting the dress. A question enters Satan’s mind, and he asks it without hesitation.  
“Is it for the same reason?”

Diavolo nods.  
“More or less. As you know, politics in the Devildom have always been complex. I hope to change that one day, but until then, this is the best that I can do.”

It’s a noble cause, dancing and pretending to fawn over others in order to ensure their survival. Life in the Devildom has always been cutthroat. From the moment anyone enters it they are caught in its web, and Diavolo sits at the center of it all. In some ways, Satan is thankful for his (and his brothers) unique origin. It means that they can forgo all of the messy bits, and don’t have to worry about whether or not they’ll make it out in one piece. They might have fallen from grace, but in doing so they were automatically placed on top of a pedestal.  
The only thing that can touch them is the high council, and even then they’ve never actually had to meet them face to face. That’s all Diavolo’s concern.

_...They owe him a lot, don't they?_  
Diavolo gives so much to his people, and yet receives nothing in return. Satan can’t help but wonder if it’s tiring. What drives him to do this?

He gets lost in his thoughts, and stumbles a bit over Diavolo’s foot. The prince catches him with ease, and helps Satan steady himself once more. Their eyes lock, and Satan already has the answer.  
It’s kindness.

It’s not something that Satan is sure he can relate to. Kindness and wrath are complete opposites of one another. If he was in Diavolo’s position…  
He wouldn’t last.  
Perhaps that’s why he can’t help but admire it, admire him. Diavolo truly is different from any other demon that he’s ever met. 

Another question leaves Satan’s lips, one that’s been nagging at him ever since Alonsa approached him with this plan.  
“Is it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“All of the effort and stress that you go through, for people that you don’t even know. Do you ever regret helping them?”

It certainly would make Diavolo’s life easier if he just ignored them all. He isn’t obligated to help each and every demon he comes across. And he doesn’t gain anything from it.

“No. It's worth it each and every time.”

The next sentence is a low whisper, for only Satan to hear.  
“And I dislike the idea of others suffering, especially in the name of love.”

Diavolo’s answer isn’t surprising, but the genuine look in his eye warms Satan’s heart.

He can’t help but tease him.  
“How romantic.”

“I’m a very romantic demon.”

“I doubt that.”

“Careful. Are you sure that you wish to test me here?”

It’s clearly a warning, a very lighthearted one, but a warning nonetheless. Satan ignores it.  
“You wouldn’t.”

Diavolo bends down, and his breath caresses Satan’s neck.  
“Wouldn’t I?”

Satan can feel his face flush, and his heart skip a beat. The sheer idea of Diavolo trying to do anything intimate to him, in front of all of these people…  
It excites him more than it should.

_Ah, but he would never actually do that, would he?_  
Yes, he also knows Diavolo far too well by now. So he calls the prince’s bluff, and whispers in his ear.  
“Go ahead.”

And that expression that Diavolo makes, where his eyes widen and his cheeks turn crimson, is just as intoxicating as it was the first day he saw it. Teasing him, catching him off guard, is worth it every time. 

So Satan decides to take things a bit further.  
“Well, what are you waiting for?”

The prince is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth several times, but nothing comes out.  
A cocky grin paints Satan’s face.  
_Looks like I’ve won this round._

He hears a soft chuckle escape Diavolos lips, and then he’s tugged forward. They’re hugging now, and their feet are too close together in order to properly dance. But Diavolo still manages to have them lightly sway from side to side.

“Naughty thing. You have no idea how happy you make me.”

Satan hums into his chest, and the two of them remain like that for several more songs.  
No talking. No teasing. No jokes. Just... feeling.  
As if this will be the last dance that they ever have together.


	10. Chapter 10

Eventually they have to part. Although he is here as Diavolo’s date, the prince still has to mingle with the rest of his guests. So their hands separate, and Satan is left alone. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. Satan has socialized with complete strangers before, and small talk is one of his many strengths. But that was before he drew everyone’s envy. That was before he was in a body that no one feared.

They descend upon him like sharks.

One demon, which Satan has internally dubbed as Pompous McGee, introduces himself with a sneer.  
“Your dance with the prince was very skilled, but rather lackluster. I could have done far better.”

Another one nods in agreement.  
“Yes, we can’t have that getting to your head now. Lord Diavolo has held stronger connections with millions of demons before you.”

But their glares don’t intimidate Satan at all. In a sea full of sharks, he is a killer whale. It will take much more than that to make him upset.

So he does what he does best, and plasters on a smile.  
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I am here to appreciate him, as are all of you.”

This seems to appease them. A demon off to his left (with one of the worst hairdos he’s ever seen) nods.  
“Good. Lord Diavolo is not a man any of us can own. He belongs to the Devildom. It is why we have dozens of consorts, such as yourself.

He gives them a small and polite bow.  
“You honor me with that title, but what we have is nothing official.”

Pompous McGee gives him a satisfied smirk.  
“Not yet at least. But I’m afraid I must admit that I do have eyes. The Lord seems attached to you. Well, as attached as he can be.”

Bad Hairstyle lets out a sigh.  
“Do you think he’ll ever look at me like that one day?”

“With that hair? Pass.”

“Hah. I’ll have you know Beelzebub himself found it appealing.”

“That’s because it looks like a cake.”

And just like that, he’s in. It’s amazing really, how easy some demons are to play. They are predictable in how they act, and in how they view their ‘competition’. All it takes is a couple of politely worded sentences for them to brush him aside.  
Politics is not a game that Satan enjoys, but it’s one that he plays rather well.

Their conversation continues, and Satan doesn’t even bother joining in. With how large of a group it is, he doesn’t need to. He tries to tune a majority of it out. And he succeeds for the most part, until a very familiar name is uttered.

“It’s a shame that Lucifer and his brothers aren't here. I would have loved to see them dance….Well, all except for one of course.”

“Are you talking about _him?_ ”

“Obviously. Could you imagine Satan dancing?”  
They laugh.

Satan can feel himself freeze once they utter his name. And the longer their conversation goes on, the colder he becomes.

“That beast? He would trip over his own two feet. I don’t buy his calm and charming persona for a second.”

“None of us do. Once a monster, always a monster.”

“I’m amazed he’s even allowed to live, considering what he is.”

“Using _‘he’_ is a bit of a stretch now that I think about it. Satan is definitely more of an _‘it’_.”

Everyone nods.  
“Finally someone says it. I know the thing’s smart, but do you think it’s actually sentient?”

“Even a dog can be taught how to sit.”

There’s another round of laughter. It seems to echo across the ballroom, drowning out Satan’s thoughts. He’s never felt so cold, so frozen.  
His eyes are starting to sting.

“Do you think it can be taught to play dead?”

“Does it have to be playing?” 

_Monster.  
Beast.  
It.  
Thing.  
Dog._

Satan can’t breathe.

“Alonsa, is something the matter?”

Panic and bile rise up in his throat. His mind can barely think, but years upon years of practice allow him to create an appropriate response. 

“...If you will excuse me, I believe I’m needed elsewhere.”  
His voice is neutral, measured. The exact opposite of how he feels.

No one suspects anything.

“Of course. We’ve taken up far too much of your time already.”

“Just make sure to watch out for Satan. That savage creature might try to eat you up on your way there!”

Another demon lightly punches his shoulder. It was a joke, and yet…  
Satan doesn’t feel like laughing, not at all. Perhaps that just makes him more of an outsider though, because everyone else is. Even as he walks away, he can still hear their remarks.  
It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He can feel himself starting to _slip_. Staying in this room any longer would be a bad idea. And he doesn’t need to anyways, he’s already done his part for Alonsa.  
So there’s no reason for him to remain here, surrounded by demons that do nothing but belittle and besmirch him. Demons who apparently have wanted him dead from the moment he was born. Satan takes a deep breath, and although the air feels stale and stifling, it does it’s job. His steps are calm and collected as he opens one of the palace’s backdoors and steps out into the garden.

~+~+

Satan parks himself on a nearby bench. The fresh air helps, but only somewhat. His mind, his emotions, are nothing more than a tangled mess. Their opinions mean absolutely nothing. Satan knows this. He believes it, and yet...  
Their words sting, and the anger festering within him only proves their point. How many other demons share this point of view? Who else talks about him behind his back, as if he’s some sort of _thing_? Satan has always known that he wasn’t exactly adored, but this…  
This is entirely different. The implications alone are troubling. The very persona that he’s spent his entire existence crafting might have been completely pointless the entire time. He assumed that people at least liked it, but maybe that was never the case. Because no matter what he does, he will always be Satan.  
And Satan is not loved. 

His thoughts are interrupted by Diavolo’s footsteps.

The prince zeros in on his expression, and is beside him in an instant.  
His hand cups Satan’s cheek.  
“My dear, what has upset you?”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re crying. It’s not nothing. Tell me.”

 _...Crying?_  
Satan looks down, and sees several spots on his gown that are wet. New ones are starting to appear next to them.  
_Ah, I suppose I am._

He wants to brush it off, to shove it all aside and drown himself in a book like how he usually does. But Diavolo is right there in front of him, and lying to him is a lost cause. He has always been able to see through everyone.  
...Can he see through Satan right now?  
Does he think of him as a monster too?

Diavolo’s hand tilts his chin up, and his thumb delicately wipes some of his tears away. 

The tenderness of that gesture causes Satan to melt, and the truth spills from his lips.  
“Some of the guests spoke badly about Satan, and I suppose I took it a bit personally.”

The prince's eyes darken, and his brows furrow.  
“ **What are their names?** ”

He’s never heard Diavolo sound like that before. He sounds absolutely livid. Satan can sense the rage lurking within him. And for some reason, that calms him down. The prince’s emotions are an echo of what he’s currently feeling himself. Diavolo is different from all of those other nobles. He is… special.  
And if they have this in common, then that doesn’t make Satan’s rage an evil thing, does it?  
He’s allowed to get angry when people say cruel things about him.  
He’s allowed to feel like this, because Diavolo feels it too.  
And Diavolo isn’t a monster.

Satan nuzzles his cheek further into Diavolo’s hand. In truth, he can’t give him an answer. He doesn’t actually know any of their names.  
“I don’t remember. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Can you describe them?”

The anger is still there. Clearly Diavolo wants justice to be carried out, but Satan is over it; for now at least. Besides, if Diavolo tried to execute everyone who said something bad about him, then the Devildom’s population would be halved before noon.

“There’s really no need for you to go through all the trouble—“

“There is. Satan is one of my students and a member of RAD’s student council. I won’t have anyone speaking ill of him.”

He doesn’t even know what they said.  
“All they did was state the truth.”

“...And what was that?”

Satan opens his mouth, but Diavolo shushes him with one of his fingers.  
“No, there's no need to repeat it.”

Diavolo’s hand pulls away, but it pauses midair, as if he’s unsure of where to put it. And without thinking, Satan guides it back to his cheek.  
The warmth returns. It’s strange. Their words made him freeze, but Diavolo barely needed to say anything in order for him to melt.  
Satan can’t help but wonder why that is, or why his stomach has been fluttering so much lately.  
Maybe he’s sick.

But the gesture appears to have a similar effect on Diavolo as well. The tenseness from his shoulders fades, and he lets out a sigh.  
“I’m afraid a rather large part of the nobility is close minded. It’s one of the many things that I’m trying to change.”

His thumb brushes over Satan’s lips.  
“But they do not know Satan. Not as you or I do.”

It’s true. Even if their words have some merit, Satan has never met them before. And in the grand scheme of things, they are nothing. They don’t even represent a single percentage of the Devildom’s population. So who are they to declare Satan’s worth? What right do they have?  
...They have absolutely nothing.  
Satan is the only person who gets to decide on whether or not has the right to exist. No one else matters. And from the concern that Diavolo displayed towards him earlier, he seems to agree.  
So those nobles can take their opinions and their cruel words, and shove them up their ass.

He can feel himself starting to tense, and the anger beginning to bubble and fester within him, but Diavolo manages to fix it all with a single touch.  
The prince’s thumb lightly strokes his cheek, and Satan finds himself focusing on the gesture. It doesn’t take long for him to calm down.  
He feels content, more than when he tries to fix his anger himself. Maybe he’s gotten better at it. Or maybe that warm feeling in his chest is at play. Either way he’s fine, for the most part. He’s definitely better than how he was before at least.

Diavolo seems pleased when Satan’s shoulders begin to slouch. The prince’s voice is low, a whisper for no one else to hear.  
“I try to correct them whenever I can, but I need to watch my every step. Politics in the Devildom is like playing a game of chess. One wrong move, and it’s checkmate.”

It’s easy to forget how precarious Diavolo’s position is. The king is the most important piece, but it’s also the weakest. And when the game is over, it’s the first thing to be discarded. The weight that he bears is heavy, and yet here is he, volunteering to add more to it. All because of what, some people calling Satan what he rightfully is?  
He isn’t worth the trouble. If the rest of the demonic nobility think Diavolo’s not up to par, then the prince could be killed. One slip up is all it would take.  
So why would he care?  
Why does Satan matter?

“...You would really risk it all in order to defend him?”

Diavolo nods, and his hand falls back into his lap.  
“Some risks are worth taking. You made one in our dance earlier, didn’t you?  
There was no guarantee that I would have caught you. You could have fallen on the floor and ruined everything. But that didn’t happen. And because of that stunt you pulled, our dance was improved.”

In all honesty, Satan had never considered that. In the dozens upon dozens of times that they have danced together, Diavolo has never dropped him, not even once. That’s what makes it special. That’s what allows the both of them to spice things up. Because they are not dancing with some random demon, they are dancing with each other.  
And together, it's impossible for them to fail.

“It wasn’t a risk, not really. I knew that you would catch me.”

Diavolo’s breath hitches.  
“...You have that much faith in me?”

Satan snorts.  
_And here I thought I was being obvious._  
He mirrors the gesture that Diavolo did with him earlier, and caresses the prince’s cheek. Diavolo’s eyes widen, and Satan can see a faint blush start to form. His thumb glosses over it, and that blush starts to expand and deepen.  
_He looks like a tomato now. How cute._

A soft smile graces Satan’s lips.  
“Yes, I do. I trust you more than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

The prince looks even more flustered now, and his gaze drops to the floor.  
“Ah, your words make me happy, but I can't help but feel like I don’t deserve them.”

If anything, Satan is the one that doesn’t deserve his trust. The only reason he’s even here is because of a ruse that he had created in order to get back at Lucifer. At least, that's how things were in the very beginning.  
Something is different, and has been different for a quite a while.  
Would Diavolo still feel the same way? Would he still like Satan if he knew what he did? Or what he’s been trying to do?  
...Satan doesn't know. And for some reason, that frightens him.  
He can handle being hated by the world, but being hated by Diavolo…  
Why does that idea hurt?

But there’s nothing he can do about it now. What's done is done. And with the way Diavolo is looking at him… The concern, the adoration, is written plainly on his face. Satan might struggle to believe in himself and in his worth; but he believes in this, whatever this is. The trust that they’ve built with one another will not crumble so easily.  
No matter what happens, they will be fine.

So Satan waves it all off.  
“Hah, if anyone’s undeserving of praise, it's me.”

Diavolo frowns, and then his eyes light up. It’s a look that Satan knows all too well.  
_What game will he suggest this time, I wonder?_

Satan doesn’t have to wait long in order to find out. Diavolo asks him if he wants to play, and Satan accepts his offer right away. He doesn’t even know what the game is, and yet he’s already looking forward to it.

Diavolo quickly sits next to him on the bench, and has an incredibly eager look on his face.  
“It’s Rock, Paper, Scissors. But if I win, then I get to tell you one thing about Satan that I like.”

 _An interesting idea._  
“And if I win?”

“Then you have to say something positive about Satan that you like.”  
There is a daring look in Diavolo’s eyes. And once Satan catches a glimpse of them, he’s sold. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge after all, and this might be one of the hardest challenges that he’s ever faced.

Diavolo gives him one last chance to back out.  
“Well, are you in?”

The premise is simple, and yet he can’t help but feel a bit intimidated by it. What would Diavolo even say?  
...What would he say?  
There’s no way a game like this can last. All of Satan’s good qualities could be filled on one sticky note, with plenty of room to spare. But the nobility’s harsh words still leave a sour taste in his mouth.  
Perhaps this is exactly what he needs.

So Satan meets Diavolo’s gaze with a fierce look of his own.  
“Bring it on.”

And with that statement, their game begins.  
They face one another, and start.

 _Rock.  
Paper.  
Scissors._  
Diavolo wins  
“I admire his tenacity.”

 _Rock.  
Paper.  
Scissors._  
Satan wins.  
He pauses, but it doesn’t take too long to come up with something.  
“He’s smarter than his brothers I guess.”

 _Rock._  
A win for Diavolo.  
“The passion that he shows towards the things that he loves is stunning.”

 _Paper._  
Another win for the prince.  
“His witty and clever mind never fails to amaze me.”

 _Scissors._  
A win for Satan this time.  
“He can occasionally be funny.”

It’s strange. The compliments are starting to come easier to him now. Perhaps it’s because of Diavolo himself. Every single bit of praise that leaves his lips makes Satan’s confidence grow. And the prince never seems to run out. He never has to stop and think. It’s just one compliment after another. And eventually they forget about the whole _Rock, Paper, Scissors_ aspect all together.

Satan is starting to take the lead.  
“He’s creative.”

He fires off another compliment before Diavolo can open his mouth.  
“He’s reliable.”

The prince seems pleased, but he refuses to be outmatched.  
“He is one of the kindest demons that I have ever met.”

That makes Satan pause.  
“Really, kind?”

Of all of the compliments that Diavolo could have given him, kind was not one that he would ever have chosen for himself.

Diavolo nods.  
“I receive reports from various animal shelters across the Devildom, and each report always has one thing in common.  
There is a certain demon that never fails to show up to drop off hurt and abandoned animals, and that always volunteers to help care for them.  
Do you have any idea who that might be?”

 _Ah, that._ It’s true that he does stop by an animal shelter or two whenever he can. It’s one of his favorite places to go and relax. Something about helping animals calms him down, and makes him feel more stable. He also just… likes it. Seeing them get better, seeing their faces perk up once he walks into the room, makes him happy. But he always snuck his way over there. If any of his brothers ever found out… he wouldn't hear the end of it. Even now, he feels embarrassed that he was caught. Demons aren’t supposed to be that dedicated to saving something. They just do it once or twice in their lifetime, when the urge hits them. But for Satan, that urge is never gone. He sees an animal, hears them cry, and he’s there in an instant.  
It’s one of the many things that sets him apart from everyone else.

Yet Diavolo isn't mocking him, nor is he teasing him. Instead, he’s looking at Satan as he did before, as if he put the stars in the sky. Satan tries to look away, to do something to dull his blushing face, but Diavolo lightly tilts his chin towards him.

Their eyes meet. 

“I know he would struggle to believe it, but it’s the truth. He is defined by so much more than his wrath. Satan is an incredibly kind and caring person, and the Devildom is a better place because of him.”

 _...A better place?_  
No. Satan has done nothing to improve the Devildom. His presence isn't even wanted.  
“...You’re wrong.”

Diavolo tuts, completely unsurprised by Satan’s response.  
“Ah, but didn’t our little game prove that I’m right? Did we not just list many of his positive traits?  
I could mention more if you—”

And all at once, every single one of Diavolo’s compliments sink in. Satan feels flustered, but how could he not be? Especially when Diavolo is looking at him like _that_.  
Satan doesn't doubt that he has more to say. Diavolo could probably do this for hours if he let him. But Satan’s heart wouldn't be able to handle it. He can barely handle it now.

His blush deepens as he quickly covers Diavolo’s mouth with his hand.  
“No! That’s fine… and you might be right.”

Yes, Satan technically proved that when he listed off a few things about himself that he liked. In the thousands upon thousands of years that he has been alive, Satan has been many things. And not all of those things have been bad.

He pulls his hand away, and Diavolo smirks. The prince starts idly playing with a strand of Satan’s hair, and then brushes it against his lips.  
“The next time you hear someone say something horrible about him, I want you to remember this game. Just because others are unable to see any of his good qualities doesn’t mean that they don’t exist.  
And you have my number, in case you ever forget.”

...Is that an invitation to call him whenever he wants?  
No matter the time? No matter the distance?  
The implication is there, and for some reason that makes Satan incredibly happy. He feels anxious on the days where they aren’t able to talk. Diavolo’s become such a central part of his routine, that it feels off when he’s missing from it. And sometimes a simple text isn’t enough. He wants to hear his voice each and every day, but he doesn’t know why.  
And yet, he also knows that it’s impossible. He’s going to have to say goodbye to all of this one day.  
But even when he does, will Diavolo still be there to answer his call?  
...Will he say _hello_ instead of farewell?

An ending still doesn't suit them, not in Satan’s opinion at least. But that puts them at a dead end. Because what else is there? What else is left for them, if not an ending to everything that they have built?  
...A beginning would be the next logical step, but a beginning to what?

Before he can come up with an answer, Satan’s thoughts are interrupted by a tiny mew.  
There’s a cat nearby. A kitten, from the sound of things.  
He’s up in an instant.

Diavolo trails behind him as the mews become louder and louder. And they eventually arrive at the source. It is indeed a kitten, an incredibly tiny and frail one at that. It’s tucked behind a bush, shivering in fear.

Satan crouches before it right away, and addresses it using the softest tone imaginable.  
“Hey there little one. Where’s your family at?”

mew!  
_I don’t know._

“Were you separated from them?”

mew!  
_I’m scared._

Satan’s heart pangs in response.  
“Shhh. It’s okay, I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

He slowly stretches his hand out towards them, and the kitten gives it a couple of sniffs before nuzzling into his fingers.  
He can’t stop the smile that stretches across his face, or the adoring coo that leaves his lips.  
“There we go. Aww, who’s a sweet little kitty?”

mew!  
_Me?_

“It’s you!”  
He picks the kitten up in response, and laughs once they begin to purr.

“Aren’t you a precious little pumpkin! You’re a sweet little kitten cake, yes you are!”

The kitten meows in agreement.

But before another round of baby talk can begin he hears a laugh, one that isn’t his own.  
...Oh right, he has an audience. Diavolo has been here the entire time.  
_Shit Diavolo has been there the entire time._  
Satan coughs, and tries to look nonchalant, but nothing is going to save his reputation now. 

Yet the prince doesn’t make fun of him, and his expression doesn’t look judgmental at all. He slowly walks over to Satan, peers down at the kitten, and grins.  
“You are a sweet little kitten cake! The sweetest I’ve ever seen!”

 _Oh.  
He’s joining in.  
That’s... unexpected._ But it automatically makes Satan feel more at ease.  
Yes, there’s nothing wrong about cooing over a kitten, especially one as cute as this.

For the next half an hour that’s all they do. They stand there and fawn over the tiny thing in Satan’s arms. And thankfully there’s no one nearby to overhear them. There is no dignity in this, in calling someone a ‘little baby sugar muffin’ or a ‘precious pookie bear’.  
But that’s okay. This is just another secret between the two of them, a moment that will forever live on in both of their hearts.

As fun as this is, they can’t smother the kitten with affection and kisses forever. The little thing is lost, and needs to be returned home, wherever that is.

Diavolo appears to be on the same page. His brows clench together in thought, but only for a second.  
“If they have any living family members I may be able to track them down, but I’ll have to touch them first.”

That’s perfect.  
Satan looks at the kitten and beams.  
“Did you hear that pumpkin? Dia can help you find your way home if you let him hold you. Is that okay?”

mew!  
_Smells funny._

He chuckles, and gives them a couple of scritches on the back of their neck.  
“I know. But it won’t be for long, and his arms are very comfy.”

The kitten seems to consider this, before jumping into Diavolo’s arms.

The prince’s entire face brightens.  
“Ah, thank you for trusting me Pumpkin. This might feel a bit cold.”

Diavolo closes his eyes, and opens them after a moment or two.  
“I found them. They are about a 10 minute walk from here.”

It’s not far at least, but the kitten is now stubbornly clinging to Diavolo’s chest, refusing to leave.

mew!  
_Soft._

He tries to move them again, but Diavolo waves him off. It would be easier if the prince could come along, but...

“Won’t you be needed back inside?”

Diavolo shakes his head.  
“No, I’ve already spoken with everyone. I’m done for the day. Now, I believe we have a family to reunite?”

“We do.”

Words can hardly describe how happy he is that Diavolo is coming with him. It will make everything a whole lot easier.  
...They are quite the team, aren’t they?  
No matter what they do, they manage to balance one another out in a way that no one else can.  
On their own they would have never been able to help Pumpkin, but together…  
Together they can make a difference.

But before they can begin their trek through the forest, there’s one thing that they have to do first. And even though Diavolo’s hands are full, it should still be possible. The kitten is incredibly tiny after all, and you only need one arm in order to hold it. So Satan walks up to him and gently grabs one of his hands. The prince gives him a hum of approval, and Satan grins.  
“Lead the way.”

~+~+

The kitten remains curled up in Diavolo’s arm as they walk through the forest. And it doesn’t take long for them to begin to purr. The prince seems startled by the sound, as if he’s never heard it before.

He looks to Satan for affirmation.  
“Is our sweet little Pumpkin.. purring?”

Satan laughs.  
“Yes. They most definitely are.”

It’s a very loud purr, one of the loudest ones that Satan has ever heard. For such a tiny thing, they have a very big motor.

Diavolo practically squeals in excitement.  
“They sound so cute! The is the first time I've ever held one.”

“Really?”  
Cats are fairly common in the Devildom, especially strays. It’s impossible for anyone to go a week without at least running into one. And Diavolo has been alive for a very long time.

The prince’s nods, and gaze drops to the floor. That melancholy look is back, one that Satan has only seen once before.  
...It seems that Diavolo’s loneliness didn’t just extend to other demons, but to the wildlife in general.  
Satan can’t imagine a life like that. If he didn’t have animals, or his brothers…  
It’s amazing that Diavolo has managed to survive, that he continues to be the way he is. Despite the gloom in his expression, Diavolo tries to brush it off.  
“Cats always run away from me anytime I try to go near them.”

That explains it, somewhat at least.  
“I’m not surprised. You are incredibly loud.”

Yes, nothing about Diavolo is subtle or subdued. Although he clearly tries at times, his exuberant nature and boundless energy is just a part of who he is. And for most wild animals, that’s a bit much.

Diavolo seems to consider this.  
“...So I should be more quiet?”

No, that wouldn’t really change anything. His sheer presence is incredibly loud and vibrant, and doesn’t take long for it to fill up the entire room. It’s why some people are intimidated by him, and others are completely captivated. Being quiet won’t change that. And the idea of Diavolo choosing to remain silent because he believes that his words are unwanted… that doesn’t sit right with him. Charisma is one of Diavolo’s many strengths, and his voice is incredibly soothing. Any cat would love to hear it.

“That’s not quite it. Cats are independent creatures. They accept affection on their own terms, so you really just need to be patient and let them come to you.”

Yes, that’s Diavolo’s main problem. Although he’s able to tolerate a whole lot, waiting has never been his strong suit. When he wants something, he simply goes out there and gets it. And while that has made the past couple of months very interesting, it’s not something that any animal would appreciate.

There’s a contemplative look on Diavolo’s face as he considers his advice.  
“I’ve never been good at that, but perhaps it’s time for me to start trying.  
What do you think?”

“A little patience never killed anyone.”

Diavolo nods. “And if I get to hold something cute like this in my arms, then it’s worth the wait.”

But his gaze isn’t directed at Pumpkin.  
“...Why are you looking at me when you say that?”

“No reason!”

Satan finds that hard to believe, but he lets the subject drop. After all, it’s not like Diavolo actually thinks he’s cute or anything. That would be ridiculous.

~+~+

They eventually arrive near a riverbank, and Diavolo stops. There’s a pause, and then Satan hears a chorus of meows nearby.  
Pumpkin perks up right away.

mew!  
_Family!_

And with that shout, their family quickly files out of their hiding spot. The kitten leaps out of Diavolo’s arms, and joins its mother and siblings. Satan can’t make out each and every word that they are saying, but he can feel the love from here.  
They are all happy to be reunited, to have Pumpkin in their lives once more. 

It’s one of the many things Satan loves about cats. Every member of the colony is cherished. Whether they are related by blood or not, they are always willing to accept one as their own. Cats are simple. They don’t care about Satan’s biology. They don’t demand his attention 24/7.  
Cats approach him on their own terms, without prejudice. There’s no small talk, no forced smiles. Just purring and a sense of peace. It’s why Satan wishes he could be surrounded by cats instead of his peers.  
But not all of his peers are bad.

Diavolo pats Satan on the back, and sounds incredibly pleased.  
“It looks like we completed another good deed today.”

They did. Pumpkin rushes over to them.

mew!  
_Thank you!_

The other cats approach and thank them as well. They purr and intertwine themselves in between their legs. Diavolo looks absolutely delighted.

“Look! This one is giving me kisses!”  
He motions to a tiny kitten that is licking his ankle. The prince crouches down to pet it, and another one tries to gnaw on his hand.

It’s strange. Normally his attention would be all on the cats. But now Satan has something better to focus on, something that draws his eye a whole lot more.

One of the kittens playfully pounces on Diavolo, and the prince dramatically falls down, acting as if the attack had worked.  
The others join in, and soon Diavolo has a pile of kittens climbing all over him.  
It’s an adorable sight. One that Satan’s never going to forget. This memory will be burned into his mind, like so many others.  
Diavolo laughs as one of them tries to jump onto his horns and misses. He then picks the kitten up, and places it on his head. The smile he sends Satan is dazzling, and Satan automatically gives him one in return.  
“I have a new hat!”, the prince declares.

Satan laughs.  
“It looks great on you!”

Diavolo beams at him before turning his gaze back towards the kittens. They meow and clammer for his attention; apparently they aren’t done playing with him just yet. But Satan has absolutely no problem with that. It’s not like they’re pressed for time or anything. Quite frankly he would rather be here, surrounded by cats and Diavolo’s laughter, then back at the ball. And judging by the complete and utter joy on Diavolo’s face, he feels the same.  
So Satan simply sits back and enjoys the show.

Eventually he’s joined by the mother cat. She sits by his side, and her tails slowly swishes to and fro as she observes the spectacle in front of them. Satan can feel her gaze shift over to him, and it’s incredibly smug.  
“What?”

Meow.  
_Your mate?_

And Satan absolutely does _not_ sputter or blush at her question, because it _definitely_ isn’t true. He doesn’t even know how an idea like that entered her head.  
“What? No, it’s not like that at all!”

Meow.  
_Liar._

“You’re a cat! What would you know?”

Meow.  
_He’s good._

Diavolo lets out another peal of laughter as one of the kittens bats at the jewelry hanging off his chest.

“He is.”

Satan could watch him all day. The way he plays with them is adorable, and the kittens seem to love him already. Not that Satan can blame them. Diavolo is easy to get along with, and even easier to adore.

Diavolo meows at one of them in return as he delicately bats them away from his horns.  
Satan feels his heart skip a beat. That sound…  
It makes his cheeks burn.

And then he pictures Diavolo making it again, but in an entirely different outfit, one that isn’t exactly appropriate or kid friendly. The prince would pull it off well though. The cat headband, combined with the kitten themed lingerie…  
_...Wait, what?_  
Why did he…?  
Being attracted to Diavolo is one thing, but having fantasies about him? That’s another matter entirely.

He hears Diavolo meow again, and holds back a groan. The prince has no right to sound that enticing, especially since he isn’t even trying. Diavolo has pulled so many ridiculous stunts, and yet _this_ is what is getting to him. This is what is making Satan want to grab him and confess everything, and then take him on the nearest—

 _Deep breaths. He needs to take deep breaths._  
But the fantasy from before continues, and it becomes lighter. Diavolo’s laughter is getting mixed in with it, and Satan imagines the fake tail getting caught on something, or the fake paws continuing to slip off of Diavolo’s hands. It’s not sexy at all, not in the strictest sense. And yet…  
He still feels warm, and the desire isn’t gone. If anything, the softer tone makes him blush even more. Lust is easy, even if it isn’t exactly wanted. But he’s feeling so much more than that. He just doesn’t know what it is, and in a way that frightens him.

The mama cat jumps on top of his shoulder, as if sensing his distress. She purrs, and Satan can feel himself starting to calm down.

Meow.  
_Sick?_

Satan sighs, and lightly scratches her underneath her chin.  
“No, I’m fine. I’m just confused I guess.”

Meow.  
_Happens sometimes._

Yes, this isn’t the first time that he’s felt lost, or that he’s been unable to identify what’s going on in his head, but that’s okay. He just has to live in the present, right? And not worry about whatever the future may hold.  
Besides, confusion is never permanent. This will all make sense someday. So for now, Satan tosses all of those concerns aside, and focuses on what’s in front of him.

His heart feels full. With every smile, every laugh, it gets filled more and more. He’s never felt like this before. Diavolo is stirring up emotions that Satan has never experienced, feelings that used to be foreign but are now incredibly common. It’s strange. His life from before seems so empty in comparison.  
Satan isn’t sure what expression is currently on his face, but he can already feel the mama cat’s smug aura. She must be getting the wrong idea again.

“Stop looking at me like that. You’re still completely wrong.”

Meow.  
_Of course._

She clearly doesn’t believe him.  
Which is dumb, because he and Diavolo aren’t in a relationship. And it’s not like Satan wants them to be in one. She’s only teasing him, and yet for some reason he feels worked up about it.  
For some reason it’s making him blush.

So he looks at her and grumpily scratches her behind her ear. “I will become a dog person just to spite you.”

They are interrupted by Diavolo. The prince rushes over to them, beaming with joy. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. If he had a tail, then it would definitely be wagging.  
The cat seems to pick up on this as well.

Meow.  
_Suits you._

Satan frowns, but Diavolo quickly gains his attention before he can give her a retort.  
“My dear, look! I’ve received war wounds! This batch will grow up to be a fine group of warriors!”

Diavolo proudly displays the tiny scratches that the kittens left on his arms and back, and Satan feels his heart melt at the sight.  
The prince loved them. Despite the fact that it hurt, despite the fact that they were clearly being a bit too rough, Diavolo still cherished each and every mark that they left behind. There’s no anger or annoyance in his expression at all, and Satan didn’t hear him cry out, not even once.  
The prince calls them war wounds, but they are yet another example of his compassion.

One of the kittens screams at Diavolo for attention, and he dramatically falls to the ground once more when they pounce. He laughs, and Satan finds himself laughing along.

Being with Diavolo is easy, even if all of the emotions involved are complicated. And there is something incredibly nice about this, about just being in each other's presence. The line that defines their relationship might be a bit blurred, but that’s okay; Satan doesn’t want there to be any barriers in between them.  
The mama cat purrs right by his ear, as if saying that she was right the entire time.  
Satan snorts, but doesnt tell her that she’s wrong.  
“Not. Another. Word.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, but if cats could giggle, she would probably be laughing at him.

~+~+

Eventually they have to say farewell to Pumpkin and the rest of their family. Though it’s clear from the pout on his face that Diavolo doesn’t want to. But he says goodbye to each and every one of them, and gives them a kiss on the head for good measure.  
He mopes as the distance between them grows.

It’s only been a couple of minutes, and yet the prince already looks so sad.  
“Miss them already?”

Diavolo nods.  
“Admittedly I did grow a bit attached.”

 _A bit._ He’s clearly downplaying how he felt. But Satan understands him completely.  
He misses them too.  
It’s a shame that he can’t take them home. If Lucifer didn’t ban pets from the House of Lamentation…  
But none of that matters. In his lifetime he has met thousand upon thousands of cats, and there is one thing that has always been true.  
“They’ll be fine. You’ll see them around again someday.”

“Truly?”  
Diavolo is looking at him with wide eyes full of excitement. It’s adorable; how much he’s grown to love them within such a short period of time.  
Satan can’t help but find it endearing.

“Yes. Remember what I said about cats being independent?”

Diavolo nods.

“There are going to be times when they leave, or when they want nothing to do with you. But they will always return, especially to a place that they love.”

The question that leaves Diavolo’s lips is cautious, like he’s fishing for a particular answer.  
“...And you think they love it here?”

Satan doesn’t know what sort of answer Diavolo is looking for, but he at least knows the answer to his question.  
“They love you.”

“Really?!”  
His exuberant shout almost causes Satan to trip. Is the idea of being loved really that foreign to him?  
...It shouldn’t be. Surly he’s had to have heard those words dozens of times.  
_Ah, but maybe he never believed them._

Love is a tricky subject, one that Satan has always struggled to understand. So he probably isn’t the best person to do this, or the best person to judge on whether or not someone is loveable. But this is Diavolo, and that is enough of a reason for him to try.  
Besides this isn’t even about him, or what he feels.  
It’s about the cats, and there's nothing complicated about how much Pumpkin and the others adored him.

So Satan is confident when he takes Diavolos hand, and doesn’t falter when their gazes meet.  
“There’s no doubt about it. They enjoyed being with you, and want to see you again.”

“...How do you know?”

Satan hums.  
“I have always been able to speak with animals… somewhat. Some are easier to understand than others.”

Diavolo pulls his hand away, and for a moment his expression is completely and utterly blank. It doesn’t take long for him to perk right back up, and flash Satan a teasing grin.  
“Is that why you were getting into an argument with one of them?”

...He was paying attention to them?  
_How much did he overhear?_  
Satan quickly tries to replay everything he said to the mother cat in his head.  
Were there any context clues on his side?  
...Could Diavolo have found out that they were talking about him?  
The embarrassment eats away at him, and his face feels incredibly warm.  
But none of that matters. His conversation with her didn’t mean anything. And there was nothing for them to bicker about. That would imply that one of them was right.  
And there was nothing right about the idea of him being Diavolo's 'mate'.  
“It wasn’t an argument.”

Diavolo clearly doesn’t believe him, but he lets the subject drop.  
Their conversation dies off, and although the air feels lighter, the prince himself does not. There is still a flicker of longing in his eyes, and a slight frown to his lips. Perhaps Satan isn’t as good at the comforting thing as he thought. But still, he wants to try. And talking things out always makes everything better.  
“Are you okay?”

He places a hand on Diavolo’s shoulder, and the prince seems to melt at the touch. His hand twitches before moving so that way theirs can overlap. Diavolo squeezes his hand in reassurance, and in thanks.  
“Yes… I suppose I’m unused to the idea of anyone coming back once they’ve already left.”

His hand drops to his side.  
“That’s why I tend to… cling at times. No one has ever really wanted to stay.”

But Satan’s hand doesn’t move. He squeezes Diavolo’s shoulder in return.  
_I’m not going anywhere._  
Yes, no matter what happens, this is the one thing that is absolutely clear. The one promise that Satan will never break. Whatever is going on between them has him completely hooked. He’s grown attached to it, and to the prince himself.

The reply he gives to Diavolo isn’t as sweet, but the feeling behind it is still there.  
“Then they’re missing out. You are a demon worth returning to.”

Diavolo says nothing, but he smiles as he intertwines their hands once more. And that’s all the answer that Satan needs.

~+~+

They walk back to the castle hand in hand. Not a word is spoken, but no words are needed. There is a comfort in this, in the ambient sounds of the forest and in the warmth that they share.  
The canopy of the trees above them casts various shadows on the ground, and they swirl and flicker as they move. The prince looks beautiful in this lighting. Even with all of the darkness swirling around them, he still manages to shine. The cooler tones make him look softer, or perhaps that is just his expression. Satan must be sporting a similar one. Their eyes meet, but Satan feels no shame in getting caught. And Diavolo doesn’t seem to mind. They share a grin, and continue on their leisurely stroll.

They eventually arrive at the palace gardens. And for some reason, it looks more beautiful now. Perhaps it’s because of the dozens of stars that shimmer in the sky. Or maybe it’s the fact that everything’s in full bloom. The ambience is nice. There are no other sounds around, save for the running water spilling out of a nearby fountain. Yes, there’s something about this moment that seems completely and utterly perfect.

They reach the fountain's edge and turn towards one another. No words are exchanged. Instead, Diavolo pulls him in for a hug. It’s nice, even if it did come out of nowhere. Satan’s arms wrap around him in return, and he’s never felt more at peace. He doesn’t know how long they stay like that, but eventually they untangle themselves. Their eyes meet, and then Satan registers their proximity.  
Their hug is over, but they haven’t moved away from each other. If anything they have only moved closer together. They are drawn to one another, like two opposing magnets. Satan feels one of Diavolo’s fingers tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.  
Romantic, that’s what this is. The atmosphere, the mood, it's as if it was all ripped out of a cheesy romance novel. And for some reason, that doesn’t bother him. Yes, If they were a couple, if this was a love story about them, then this would be the perfect time for a kiss. But Satan’s life isn’t anything like any of the books that he’s read, and Diavolo isn’t a charming prince that is going to sweep him off his feet. So instead of feeling their lips softly brush together, he feels himself get shoved into the fountain.

Satan topples over and lands with a splash.  
“Why did you—“

Diavolo grins.  
“Revenge, for those selfies that you sent me earlier today.”

_Oh, he’s asking for it now._

“I’ll show you revenge.”  
Satan sends a small strand of magic that wraps itself around one of Diavolo’s arms. The prince is too busy laughing to notice. Satan smirks, and tugs on it with all of his might. The prince lets out a startled squawk as he joins him in the water.

There’s a large splash, and Satan gets absolutely soaked. But it was completely worth it. Especially when Diavolo sits up and manages to look like a drowned kitten. He even lets out a tiny little sneeze.  
_How cute._  
Satan can’t stop himself from giggling, even after Diavolo splashes him once more. (This time on purpose). He’s all wet now, they both are. But Satan refuses to be outmatched. If it’s a war that Diavolo wants, then that’s what he’ll get. He splashes Diavolo in return, and the prince laughs as he races to the other side of the fountain. Satan chases after him, and the two of them run around in circles as they try to make each other more and more wet.

Time passes, and eventually the game begins to wear on them both. And as it turns out, running around in heels (in a body of water no less) is a terrible idea.  
Satan stumbles and falls flat on his face. But he isn’t hurt, not in the slightest. He picks his head up and laughs. Diavolo turns around to try and help him up, but the prince ends up tripping as well. He instead makes a similar undignified landing several feet away.  
Their laughter grows, and eventually blends together.  
The two of them struggle to get up, but their outfits are too far drenched now. Neither one of them can gain enough friction to properly stand. But that doesn’t matter, standing is overrated.  
Sitting inside of the fountain and lightly splashing each other in between giggles is far more fun.

They are eventually interrupted by Barbatos.  
“Ahem.”

The butler looks mildly amused, and raises a brow.  
“The two of you do realize that the ball ended several hours ago.”

Satan winces. The ball had completely slipped his mind. And judging by the sheepish grin on Diavolo’s face, he had forgotten as well.  
Yet Diavolo doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. If anything, he’s acting as if he was caught playing a simple board game, instead of playing around in the fountain like a child.  
“Ah, I might have lost track of time.”

Barbatos eyes their soaked appearance.  
“Clearly.”

His gaze switches over to Satan. He hasn’t even said anything yet, but Satan already feels reprimanded.  
“I’m sure Alonsa will be pleased to hear about what you did to her dress.”

...He had forgotten about that too. The dress in question is completely soaked, and torn in several places. And that’s not even mentioning the dirt that’s stained the bottom of it. He can’t exactly return it anymore, can he?  
His mind struggles to come up with an excuse, but there isn’t any.  
“I— uh…”

Barbatos sighs.  
“You’re in luck however. There is not a single timeline in which she has an attachment to it.”

A small miracle. It’s nice to know that he won’t get in trouble, or that he at least didn’t ruin anything important. In fact, He’s done nothing but good deeds today. It’s a strange thing to think about. Satan just does whatever he wants, he never cares about whether it’s right or wrong. All he cares about is the end result.  
He’s never focused on the process before. It’s never felt this good, this fulfilling.  
He can’t help but wonder if that has to do with the demon beside him. It’s as if being with Diavolo has shifted his point of view. The Devildom seems brighter; he feels brighter. Perhaps this is what Diavolo meant when he said that Satan made the Devildom a better place. But the prince seems to forget how much his own light shines on the world around him. Maybe some of it has rubbed off on Satan himself. But he cares about the Devildom now, in a way he never did before.

He wants it to be good. To be a place that allows the both of them to smile like this forever.

Barbatos clears his throat.  
“Either way, you should get changed out of your disguise. Your original clothes are being kept in the young masters bedroom, you may go there to fetch them.”  
“After,” he throws both of them a towel, “the two of you dry up. I will not have you dripping water all over the palace floors.”

Diavolo nods, and does his best to give Barbatos a polite bow. It doesn’t really work when he’s sitting down.  
“Of course, thank you for your assistance as always.”

The butler just rolls his eyes as he teleports away.

Eventually the two of them are able to stand up by leaning on one another for support. Satan has to discard his heels in order to leave the fountain, but Diavolo tells him not to worry about it. He’ll replace everything.  
So the only thing that’s left for them to do is dry up.

It’s an easy enough task once Satan wrings out the bottom of his dress.  
He dries himself as he usually does, by taking the towel and rubbing it vigorously over his head. Apparently Alonsa’s hair works differently than his own, because it poofs out in retaliation.  
He can hear Diavolo snicker.

Satan ignores it as he focuses on getting the makeup off of his face. He pulls the towel away, and it’s been sufficiently stained with lipstick and mascara.  
Diavolo’s snickers grow louder.

Satan winds the towel up, and whips him with it.  
But the prince isn’t deterred. If anything he seems even more amused.

Now Satan’s curiosity is piqued.  
“Oi, what’s so funny?”

He’s answered with a snort.  
“Your makeup is running, and with the towel you’ve only made it worse.”

Ah, he must look like an idiot then. Makeup isn’t something he’s ever worn all that often, and Asmo was always there to put in on and take it off.  
Apparently removing it is a lot harder than it looks.

Diavolo moves, and dips his own towel into the fountain in order to wet it.  
“Here, allow me.”

Satan gives him a small nod, and Diavolo begins to gently run the towel over his face. He knows why Diavolo is doing it, yet it feels like a caress more than anything.

The prince’s voice is a quiet whisper.  
“Close your eyes. I need to wipe off your mascara.”

And Satan does exactly that. Without his sight, Satan can’t help but focus on everything else. The quiet sound of running water, and Diavolo’s feather light touch as he carefully cleans Satan’s face. For some reason, it feels more intimate now. Especially since Diavolo is starting to run the towel over parts of his face that Satan knows are makeup free.  
But he allows it, and after a minute or two his mind becomes blissfully blank.

Eventually the towel stops moving, and Satan’s eyes flutter open. The first thing he’s greeted with are Diavolos eyes.  
The prince is gazing at him, with a look that is overwhelmingly soft and tender. The makeup is definitely gone, but his touch still lingers. And even though Satan knows this, he doesn’t point it out. For some reason he wants Diavolo’s hand to stay.  
It doesn’t of course.

His hand falls, and Satan sees the prince's wings glitter in the moonlight.  
They’re still wet, and the Diavolo’s towel is completely ruined now. It won’t be able to get the job done.

Satan eyes his own towel. There’s some makeup that has stained one side of it, but the other side is completely clean. And, more importantly, it isn’t soaking wet.  
...He’s just being efficient. That’s all.  
“Your wings are still dripping. Allow me to return the favor.”

Diavolo seems startled by his offer, but he quickly calms down and flashes him a grin.  
“How kind of you. Just make sure to be gentle. They are rather sensitive.”

Satan lightly brushes up against them with the towel, and they immediately quiver. He pauses, and gives Diavolo some time to adjust.  
The prince clears his throat.  
“I’m fine. Continue.”

So Satan does. He drags the towel over Diavolo’s frame, stopping every now and then to appreciate the view. From up close, Diavolo is like a work of art, and Satan can’t help but admire every little detail that went into creating him. The tattoos, the wings, the horns, it paints a beautiful picture. Probably the prettiest one Satan has ever seen.  
The droplets of water add to it. It’s a shame they have to be removed.  
But this is also a beautiful sight, especially with the stars shimmering in the background.  
...The day is almost over.  
It’s amazing how quickly time has flown by, how much they have managed to do in one single day. Satan wants to do more, to experience more things with Diavolo at his side.  
But that’s not entirely possible, is it?

His movements slow. A part of him doesn’t want to leave. A part of him wants to stay here, trapped in this moment forever. That way it never has to end.  
Nothing has to change. They can still—

Diavolo starts to fidget, apparently unsatisfied with the slower pace. His eyes are closed, and there’s a small frown on his face. It won’t be long before it turns into a fully fledged pout.

_Well, he can’t have that._

So Satan picks up the pace, and applies more pressure as he moves the towel across Diavolo’s wing. Diavolo immediately begins to relax, and let’s out an appreciative hum.  
...If this is all it takes to make the prince happy, then what would happen if he scrubbed at them even harder?  
And once that idea enters Satan’s head, he can’t help but test it out. So he forgoes being gentle all together, and acts as if there’s a particularly tough stain on the center of his wing. The change is instant. Diavolo’s eyes snap open, and something resembling a squeak escapes his lips.

_How interesting._

Satan moves to try and scrub at a different spot, but the towel falls from his grip, and he touches the prince with his bare hands instead. His fingernails accidentally rack against Diavolo’s wings, and the prince lets out a choked gasp. 

An apology leaves Satan’s mouth before he can even think about it.  
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“No, it’s fine. Thank you for your assistance.”  
Diavolo says that, but his voice sounds incredibly strained.  
“You can go ahead and go to my room to get changed. I need a moment to… collect myself.”

Satan nods, but Diavolo’s wings are hypnotizing. He’s never really focused on them before. They’re tipped in gold, and sway too and fro. And, like a cat almost, he wants to bat at them; to poke and prod and see how responsive Diavolo can really be.  
He wants to touch them again.  
So as he leaves, his fingers lightly brush up against them once more. He doesn’t see Diavolo’s expression, nor does he hear him make a sound, but he can picture it all in his head. It’s nice, to have the prince be a completely flustered mess for a change.

~+~+

The disguise has been completely stripped away, along with the soaked dress. Instead Satan is completely dry, and wearing Lucifer’s uniform.  
He eyes the charm in his hands, the one that Diavolo had given him earlier. It’s ordinary in every single way, and yet…  
A token of Diavolo’s affection… that doesn’t sound platonic, does it? Satan isn’t exactly sure. He’s never been close with anyone, and Diavolo is a very giving person in general.  
Has he given them away before? Does Lucifer have one?  
...Is this normal?

There’s a knock on the door, and Satan shoves the charm into his pocket. Diavolo enters, looking as joyous as ever.  
“Ah, I see you’ve found everything.”

“I did. Thank you for tonight, it was fun.”  
He has fun every time he hangs out with Diavolo, but something about tonight was special. Different. There’s a reason why, but Satan still can’t put his finger on it.

Diavolo places a hand on his shoulder.  
“I should be the one thanking you. Both Alonsa and I owe you a debt.”

“It was nothing.”

But, like always, Diavolo isn’t convinced. His hand travels downwards, and he begins tracing Satan’s palm. And although Satan is wearing gloves, he can still feel Diavolo’s touch.  
“It was everything. Having you by my side… I have never enjoyed myself this much at a ball before. Each and every experience that I have with you is exhilarating.”

The adoring look he gives him isn’t exactly new, but it still manages to make Satan blush.  
“...You’re overexaggerating.”

“No. I only ever speak the truth.”

Satan snorts.  
“Even last week, when you claimed that you ate each and every pickle that Barbatos put on your plate?”

The prince laughs at the reminder.  
“I said they were _eaten_ , I never said they were eaten by me. I never did thank you for that, did I?”

It was nothing really. But no matter how small the favor is, Diavolo smothers him with thank you’s and plenty of hugs. He still doesn’t understand why the prince does it.  
“You don’t have to, and there’s no need to shower me with gratitude every time I do something for you.”

“But I want to. Is there anything wrong with letting you know how appreciated you are, with how much I—“  
Diavolo pauses, and let’s out an awkward cough.  
“Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. Do you want to know the truth?”

Satan nods.

Diavolo’s voice is a low murmur, and his eyes almost seem to glow. This isn’t a statement, but a promise.  
“The truth is that I want us to do this again sometime.”

And it’s one that Satan secretly makes in return. The dance, the ball; he isn’t normally a fan of such things. But with Diavolo…  
It’s all different. Everything is different.

The prince hums, and lifts Satan’s hand up to his mouth. The next question is whispered against his exposed wrist.  
“And what about you? What do you want?”

 _You._  
It’s embarrassing, how quickly that thought enters his head. But it’s also the only thing he can think of.  
And there’s something about this moment, about the ball in general, that feels like the end of everything. Their time really is almost up, isn’t it?  
It had only ever been a ruse after all. But sometimes… sometimes he forgot.  
And even now, when he’s completely and utterly aware of it, when he knows that he has absolutely nothing to gain by remaining here; Satan can’t help the question, the request, that softly passes through his lips.  
“Your wings… can I touch them one last time?”

And Diavolo agrees far too quickly.  
“ ** _Yes_**. You may touch my horns as well, if you want.”

Satan nods, and slowly reaches out to touch one of Diavolo’s wings. They quiver a bit before settling down. But with the gloves in the way he can hardly feel anything. He might as well be touching some random person's costume. It doesn’t feel real.  
It doesn’t feel like Diavolo.

_This won’t do at all._

So in one swift motion he rips off Lucifer’s gloves. It was foolish of him to have even put them on in the first place. The barrier they provided was unneeded, unwanted. He places his bare hands on Diavolo’s wings, and he can feel the muscles shift and move. Yes, this is much better. Now he can properly admire what’s in front of him.

He lightly traces random patterns on them. With each brush of his finger, Diavolo becomes more and more mellow. It isn’t long before he’s a pile of putty in Satan’s hands.

Satan brushes his figures against the edge of his Diavolo’s wings, and the prince shivers.

He knows that Diavolo isn’t in pain, but he hasn’t said anything since they started.  
Is he doing this right?  
Does Diavolo even want to be touched by him?  
Satan isn’t sure, and it never hurts to ask.  
“Is this okay?”

Diavolo answers right away.  
“It’s perfect. You can be more rough if you want, I won’t break so easily.”

He wants him to be more rough?  
...The idea is tempting. If he’s already this sensitive with light feathery touches, then how would he react if Satan were to use his nails? If he were to scrape and tug along the most delicate parts of the prince’s body?  
The amount of trust in that request alone is intoxicating, and that’s not even counting the sounds that are sure to spill from his mouth.  
Diavolo has no idea what he just signed up for.

A sadistic grin makes its way across Satan’s face.  
“Fine, but you asked for it.”

He grasps one of Diavolo’s wings more firmly then he did before, and studies its texture. Despite its appearance, it feels like velvet. Satan rubs it in between his fingers once more, and Diavolo lets out a hum of approval. They are incredibly soft, perhaps that’s what Diavolo meant when he said they were sensitive.

The colors are stunning as well, especially up close. It perfectly matches his hair, and brings out the wing’s bone structure. Satan’s fingers gloss over them. Unlike the membrane, the arm (and it’s corresponding digits) are hard and smooth. But from the way Diavolo is shivering, he can still feel his touch.

He grips them, and pulls.  
Diavolo lets out a gasp, and Satan finds himself focusing on that sound. It’s beautiful, like the prince himself.  
He wants to hear it again.  
So his hands travel higher, to where Diavolo’s wings meet his back. The temptation to use his mouth is there, but for now his fingers will do. He places his thumb in between one of the joints, and pushes.

But Diavolo doesn’t make a sound. Instead the prince holds it in by biting on his lip. A tiny trail of blood begins to travel down the corner of his mouth, and Satan wipes it away with his thumb. He observes it for a moment, and is suddenly hit with the urge to taste it. And this time, he doesn’t brush his desires aside.  
He can feel Diavolo’s eyes on him as he drags his tongue across his thumb. Demons don’t typically indulge in blood, but the taste isn’t terrible. He grins, and he can hear the prince’s breath hitch. Diavolo is incredibly responsive in a way that Satan could never have predicted. It makes him hunger for more.  
His eyes are drawn to Diavolo’s mouth, to the tiny smear of blood that stains the corner of his lips. A part of him wants to lean and _taste_ —  
But that’s not his current target. That’s not what’s going to produce those sounds that Satan is so desperate to hear. So instead his hands tug on Diavolo’s wings once more, and the prince lets out a whimper.

Satan chuckles, and pulls his hands away.  
“Did you like that?”

Diavolo nods.  
“More.”

He’s so eager. It’s obvious from the way his wings sway towards Satan that the prince is already craving it, craving him. Which is good, because the desire that hums through Satan’s veins is similar.  
He wants to touch Diavolo again.  
He wants to hear him make even more sounds.  
He wants to be the only thought running through his head.

So Satan draws his hands closer, the digits of his fingers hovering centimeters away from their target. Diavolo tries to shift his wings towards him, and then grumbles once Satan moves his hands out of reach.

Satan playfully tsks at him.  
“What’s the magic word?” 

And the prince lets out a needy whine.  
“ ** _Please_**.”

He flushes afterwards, as if surprised by the sheer desperation in his voice. Satan grins. It’s intoxicating, having this kind of power over him; having Diavolo gaze at him with half-lidded eyes full of desire and warmth.  
He wants to hear it again, to have every single one of the prince’s reservations vanish.  
He wants to hear him _sing_.

So Satan purrs some encouragement into Diavolo’s ear.  
“Good boy.”

Diavolo’s blush deepens underneath his praise.  
_Such a pretty picture.  
Such a good and obedient little prince._  
He deserves a reward, doesn’t he?

Satan’s hands skim over his wings once more, before stopping at the golden plated tips. It provides no absolutely no protection, and is clearly only there for decoration. The design is ornate, and from up close Satan can tell that there’s some sort of inscription engraved in them. They also appear to be burned into the wings itself. There’s no way to take them off.  
Which is absolutely perfect, because that’s what allows Satan to grab them and twist.

Another beautiful gasp leaves Diavolo’s lips. Satan scrapes his nails against the top of Diavolo’s wings, and Diavolo shoves his hand up against his mouth to muffle the sounds that are spilling out of him. Satan snickers, and pulls the prince’s hand away.  
“Is that too much for you?”

Diavolo frantically shakes his head no, and Satan moves the prince's hand towards his mouth. He lightly nibbles along his wrist, and sends him another teasing smirk.  
“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Diavolo really is a mess. He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out are noises, none of which are coherent. And from the frustrated look on his face and his flushing cheeks he’s clearly trying. But his mind is elsewhere, focused on nothing but Satan’s touch.  
Still, Diavolo manages to scrape together a rather coherent reply.  
“Stop… teasing. I’ll get r-revenge.”

Satan chuckles.  
“Again? That will be the second time today.”

His nails scrape against that joint from before, and the prince is rendered speechless.  
His eyes widen in pleasure, and Satan grins.  
“I look forward to seeing how you’ll retaliate.”

He softly blows against the tip of one of his wings.  
“Until then, you’ll continue being a good boy for me, won’t you _Dia?”_

__

That nickname, Satan will never get tired of using it. Especially with how the prince reacts. It’s amazing; how much joy he receives from something so simple. Even now, with the haze of lust in his eyes, he looks unbearably happy.  
And for some reason, that makes Satan feel happy too. 

__

Ah, but there isn’t enough time for him to dwell on things like that. After all, there’s more of Diavolo to admire.  
He hasn’t even touched his horns yet.

__

And they're gorgeous. There’s a gradient on them, as they turn from red to black. Satan follows it with his fingers, and lightly traces over each and every ridge. Diavolo fidgets, clearly unsatisfied with the delicate treatment. Satan snickers, and then purrs in the prince’s ear, “Be still.”

__

Diavolo stops shuffling, but a large pout is there instead. And although that is a cute expression, it’s not the one that Satan wants to see right now.

__

He drags his nails across the base of Diavolo’s horns.  
And this time, Diavolo is unable to stifle his moan. 

__

_Oh._

__

...What is he doing?  
What are _they_ doing?

__

Satan feels like he’s on fire, and Diavolo is the one setting him aflame. His gaze is warm, magnetic, and a million other things that draws Satan closer towards him. There’s still a gap between them, but if it closes…

__

...He won’t be able to hold anything back.

__

They should stop. They need to stop.  
Satan isn’t even in his own body.

__

But there’s a treacherous part of his mind that craves more, that whispers _‘One kiss wouldn’t hurt’_.

__

Something in Diavolo’s eyes seems to shift. One of his hands presses against the back of Satan’s neck, pulling him in closer.  
_Oh, are they going to…_

__

Anticipation wells up within him. He _wants_ this. He’s wanted this for what feels like an incredibly long time.  
What will it feel like, when their lips finally meet?

__

His heart is hammering in his chest.  
Diavolo leans in closer. _He_ leans in closer and—

__

The prince blows a raspberry right in front of his face, effectively killing the mood.

__

_...Did he really just—  
Right when they were about to—_  
Satan has millions of questions, but it only takes one to summarize how he feels.  
“What?”

__

Diavolo plasters on a shit-eating grin.  
“Revenge.”

__

That singular word ignites a flame within Satan, one that isn’t born from anger.  
_That little shit._  
Diavolo was teasing him in return, and managed to do so in the most infuriating way possible.  
...But Satan isn’t mad, not truly.  
Instead there is a tension there, one that he doesn’t know how to describe.  
A playful growl leaves his lips.  
“You ass.”

__

Diavolo lets out a chuckle, amused by the insult.  
“I try!”

__

But after a moment or two, Diavolo’s expression changes. The joy from before is gone, and instead he looks incredibly stern. There’s a sadness within his gaze, one that makes Satan want to run.

__

A part of him knows why it is there; knows what’s going to happen next. Reality is within his peripheral vision, and it’s going to force him to confront everything. Change is inevitable, but he’s changed far too much already. Satan is unsure as to whether or not he can handle any more.  
So he tries to leave.  
Before any of this has to be addressed.  
Before any more lines get crossed.  
Before—

__

Diavolo grabs his arm.  
“Wait, I haven’t given you your reward yet.”

__

Everything comes to a halt. Satan has never been more confused in his entire life.  
“...My reward?”

__

Didn’t he just get one? Isn’t that why Diavolo asked him what he wanted?  
He’s already received a prize; it took the form of Diavolo, and all of the sounds that spilled from his mouth.  
What more could the prince possibly give him?

__

Diavolo smirks.  
“Of course. Did you think that I would forget?”

__

The next sentence is a low coo, one that makes Satan’s entire body flush.  
“I said I would make it worth your while, didn’t I?”

__

And then Diavolo places one of his hands on Satan’s chest, and lightly pushes him onto the bed.  
Once Satan’s back hits the mattress, his mind goes completely blank. The desire, the feelings from before, come flooding back. It’s warm. Far too warm. Diavolo is everywhere, pressed against his thighs, laying against his chest, breathing on his face. His arms frame Satan’s body, caging him in. Their hands intertwine, and Satan can feel his very soul sing from the contact. It’s all too much, and yet not enough. Never enough.

__

Diavolo’s eyes drift towards his lips, and all at once everything freezes up. It’s dead silent. There's only one sound in the room, and it's that of Satan’s rapidly beating heart.  
The prince tilts his head forward, his mouth hovering less than a centimeter away, “You are beautiful. Everyday I am captivated by you. Just when I think I have you pinned down, you take me by surprise.”

__

It’s not a kiss, not yet. But Satan craves one with such an intensity that it startles him. He wants to lean up, wants to give in and finally take the very thing that had eluded him all this time.  
But Diavolo has his entire body pinned. He can’t move, and with him this close he can hardly think. All he can do is lay there, completely at his mercy.

__

Diavolo’s mouth moves, making its way down to his neck, and Satan growls.  
_My lips are over here asshole!_ is what he wants to say, but the words get caught in his throat.  
As if sensing his frustration, Diavolo chuckles.  
“No one has ever dared to challenge me as you do.” 

__

His mouth ghosts over Satan’s ear. He blows in it once, twice, and if he doesn’t hurry up and kiss _something_ Satan is going to strangle him.

__

Diavolo hums, and then ends it all with a single sentence.  
“You truly are one of a kind, aren’t you, **Satan**?”

__

_Shit. He knew._

__

Satan’s thoughts roll through his mind like honey. It’s difficult to process anything, especially when Diavolo’s body is pressed up against him, but he manages to clear his throat and stammer out a question, “H-How long?”

__

Diavolo frowns, and his expression morphs into something far more serious. The prince sits up; his mouth and chest are at a vaguely respectable distance, but he still remains straddling Satan’s thighs. “The entire time. I’ve always known. You see—“

__

But Satan isn’t listening to the rest of Diavolo’s explanation.  
He’s _mesmerized_.  
Diavolo truly is extraordinary. The way his golden eyes glimmer as he speaks, the way the candlelight reflects off of his impossibly red hair.  
And his _cleverness_. His beautiful, gorgeously clever mind. He had outplayed Satan from the very beginning.

__

The entire time he knew, and yet Satan was left none the wiser. Every single clue that Diavolo had left was brushed aside... And he left those deliberately didn’t he? To offer him a way out.

__

He cared about his free will. Even though Satan had nothing but dubious intentions at first, even though he was deliberately trying to mislead him, Diavolo made sure to get his consent every single time. That’s not something most demons would do. But then again, Diavolo wasn't like most demons at all. He’s definitely more like an angel; bright and full of laughter, full of light. And far more kind than he had any right to be.

__

The prince's intellect was unparalleled. Satan had never run into anyone that could match him wit for wit, that could manage to outsmart him without him ever finding out. The flirting, the touches, the gestures of intimacy, it was a part of Diavolo’s plan wasn’t it? ...How mischievous of him. How completely and utterly _brilliant_.

__

Satan was played for a fool. He had lost.  
The thought should have aggravated him, should have filled him with rage, but he felt none of that.There was only that warmth, that sickeningly sweet feeling that threatens to consume him from the inside out.  
What even is that? What’s going on?

__

And once Satan is finally able to process it all, there is only one conclusion that remains.  
The warmth, the admiration, the desire.  
_Oh.  
I have a crush on Diavolo._

____

…  
… 

____

_…  
… …!!!_

__

Reality comes crashing down, and slams itself into his head with brute force. Satan’s mind shatters from the impact. There’s only one thought that’s left, and it repeats itself over and over like a mantra.

__

_Oh fuck I have a **crush** on **Diavolo**._

__

~+~+

__

Eventually Diavolo finally finishes talking, and Satan stumbles out of the room. His heart is racing, and whenever he thinks of Diavolo’s smile it throbs.  
This isn’t good. Of all the demons in the Devildom it had to be _him_ , the most unobtainable demon there was. A prince that wouldn’t look twice at him, not when he could have whoever he wanted. The idea hurts. This revelation makes him want to heave.

__

When did this even happen?  
It was all supposed to have been an act, so when did that change?  
When did he start flirting with him because he wanted to?  
When did he start to crave having all of Diavolo’s affection for himself?  
When did this crush take root in his heart?  
...And what is he supposed to do with it now?

__

He’s never felt this way about anyone. It should be impossible. And yet his heart is pounding, and his cheeks feel unbearably pink. The desire to go back, to do something about these feelings, thrums in the back of his mind. It’s frightening, especially since he doesn’t stand a chance.  
After all, who would have Satan as their first choice?  
Who could ever possibly imagine having a future with him?

__

The harsh words from the nobles earlier today echoes in his mind. And Satan can’t help but think that there’s an element of truth to them.  
Diavolo would reject him if he ever found out. Of course he would. No one in their right mind would ever try to enter into a relationship with Satan after all. And the idea of Diavolo looking at him with disgust, or even worse, pity… He doesn’t know what he would do. These doubts, these insecurities, eat away at him, to the point where he feels like there’s nothing left.

__

And his heart pounds away. Diavolo’s smile is ingrained into his head, his laughter is a soothing melody that’s impossible for Satan to forget. Even now, with the amount of turmoil that’s going on within him, he feels warm. He feels safe. Maybe this isn’t so bad. If he can view the prince’s smile from a distance, if he can still hear his laughter from across the room, then maybe…

__

_...What is **wrong** with him?_

__

He is the Avatar of Wrath, and here he is, pining over Diavolo like he’s some sort of lost puppy, like he’s Lucifer.

__

_...Wait._

____

____

_That’s it!_

__

Clearly these feelings aren’t his own. They must have belonged to Lucifer, and eventually bled over. Satan is a monster, a being born of rage and hatred. He doesn’t get crushes, it’s completely and utterly impossible.

__

_It’s all Lucifer’s fault!_

__

Yes, none of those emotions were ever his. All of the longing, the softness, the desire; Satan was only feeling those things because of the body he was trapped in. He finds himself clinging to this idea, the only one that makes any sense. Because this means that he doesn’t have to change or confront anything. He can exist as he did before, as he always has.  
It makes this crush meaningless.

__

Satan can feel himself starting to relax. These feelings are a lot less terrifying if they came from Lucifer instead. It doesn’t belong to him, so it’s okay. He doesn’t have to understand it. He doesn’t have to worry about controlling it or hiding it away.  
It’s all going to vanish.

__

That is the way things are meant to be. Satan is destined to be alone. He has no other choice. Lucifer’s feelings for Diavolo just made him forget that. And if the rapid beating of his heart is anything to go by, then those feelings of his must be incredibly strong.  
Satan feels like he’s going to drown in them. If a cure isn’t found soon, he just might.

__

Luckily he doesn’t have to find out.

__

His phone vibrates, and it’s the first time in his entire life that he’s happy to receive a text from Lucifer.

__

> Lucifer: I’ve found the cure. Everything’s all set up. Join me in your room ASAP.

__

Satan grins. Soon this dumb fluttering in his stomach will be completely gone, and Lucifer will be forced to deal with it once more.  
Things couldn’t be any more perfect.

__

~+~+

__

Satan arrives in his room. All of his books have been moved aside and placed in neat piles. There’s a large magic circle in the middle of it, painted in unicorn blood perhaps? It doesn’t matter.

__

Lucifer turns to him and gives him a slight nod.  
“You stand over there.” He gestures to a smaller circle on Satan’s left. “And I will stand over here.”

__

Satan moves to his designated spot, and Lucifer continues.  
“Only one of us needs to say the counter curse. And since I have memorized it, I’ll do the honors. Once I do that then we can put this whole mess behind us.”

__

_Yes, yes. Now hurry up already!_

__

Lucifer moves to his spot and begins chanting. At the end of his incantation Satan feels his entire world lurch. It’s just like before, but it’s somehow even more disorienting. Once the fog from his head clears he looks up and sees Lucifer’s body staring back at him.

__

It clicks for him then, just as it does for Lucifer.  
_It worked! I’m back in my own body!_

__

Satan can’t stop the joyful laughter that escapes his lips, and even Lucifer joins in.

__

Once things die down, Lucifer looks at him with a smile, and for once Satan doesn’t want to punch it off.  
“Let us never do this again.”  
“Agreed.”

__

Lucifer leaves the room, and Satan starts cleaning everything up. Finally, things can go back to normal, to how they once were. No more creepy statues next to his bed, no more paperwork, and no more Diavolo.

__

...Ah, that’s right. He won’t be seeing Diavolo anymore. He no longer has any place in Satan’s schedule.  
So why does that thought sadden him?  
The prince's smile, the feeling of his warm touch, the sound of his laughter; it all flickers through Satan’s mind. And that feeling comes back from before, that crush. How strange. Lucifer should have it now.  
It doesn’t even feel any less intense.

__

But that’s no matter, Satan tells himself, it simply must take time to wear off or transfer over. After all, there’s no other possible explanation for the warm feeling in his chest.  
Satan doesn’t get crushes.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to take this opportunity to thank my Obey Me! discord server for all of their love and support. This story exists (and didn't just stay as an idea in my head) because you guys gave me the confidence and courage to create it.
> 
> I would also like to thank you, dear reader, and anyone who's left a kudos or a comment. This is the first fanfiction that I've ever actually written, so all of your love and support means a lot to me too!!  
> (Literally, I can't even begin to describe how much it means it me. Every comment, even if it's something simple like a heart, never fails to make my day!)
> 
> With that being said, this fic is only part 1.  
> I hope everyone is looking forward to its continuation in part 2!
> 
> And, once again, my Tumblr (and Twitter) is @s8ncake, if you ever want to drop by and say hi <3


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